


Monsters Are Real

by agentmarvel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Reader-Insert, Slow Build, loss of a child, warning: physical/emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 37,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3776077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmarvel/pseuds/agentmarvel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rated Explicit for Chapter 17 and language throughout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters with odd numbers will be told in third person POV. Even chapters in second person.
> 
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

Nervous: that was about the only word to describe Steve Rogers at the moment. He’d been holed-up in Fury’s cabin for two months already, trying to help his best friend, Bucky, recuperate. While it had been taxing and trying, they were making a bit of headway. With it being just the two of them for the past 58 days, he was surprised by the arrival of a pair of his peers.

Natasha and Clint had come with a mission from Fury, and they wasted no time reading him in.

“This girl... We need you to find her, Steve.” Natasha appeared collected, though the slight quiver in her tone suggested apprehension instead. “She’s a HYDRA operative, most likely on the hunt for Bucky. Take a good look at her. Remember that face, because she won’t forget yours.” Natasha pushed a file across the table with a picture pinned to the front. Steve took a moment to examine the girl in the photo. She didn’t look to be too old, maybe 18 at the most.

“She’s got a body count in the hundreds. Aside from the Winter Soldier, she’s HYDRA’s greatest secret weapon. Has been since she was in her early teens. Clint and I got mixed up with her a few years back. He was sent to kill me, I was sent to kill her, she was sent to kill him.”

“Dude, she fought both of us at the same time. She’s fucking terrifying!” Clint butted in, flinging his hands in the air. Natasha rolled her eyes, allowing them to land back on Steve.

“She was 16. If she made Clint cry back then, I don’t want to consider what she could do now.”

“Hey! In my defense, I’ve gotten tougher in the last six years, too!” Clint wailed, throwing his palms against the glass table top. It shuddered under his weight, but refused to give. Steve was so enthralled by their story that he hadn’t realized just how hard he was biting the inside of his cheek. The taste of iron on his tongue brought him back quickly, and he hissed, releasing the tender flesh.

“Regardless, she’s in the wind. She has been since the incident at the Triskelion. No one has ever caught her on video, only two photographs of her have ever been taken, and you’re looking at one of them. She won’t look the same now, she’s too smart. She has an IQ of 162, and she’s versed in the worst of what the world has to offer. She knows how to cover her tracks and keep a low profile. Watch your back with her, Cap. She’s probably one of the biggest threats you’ll ever come up against.”

“Why am I being sent after her?” Steve asked hesitantly. “Can I bring Buck with me?” Natasha shook her head adamantly before sharing a look of worry with Clint.

“Sam has agreed to look after Bucky for a while. You’ll have three days to get them acquainted enough for Bucky to be comfortable with Sam.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Agent Romanoff,” Steve reiterated, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Why me?” Clint held a hand out in from of Natasha, as if to ask her to let him answer.

“She’s seen our faces. You, she’s never met. You can get closer to her than we can, Steve. You’re our only option.” His eyes were unmoving, his face like stone. “She’s too familiar with Stark and she’s been sent after Banner before. He hulked out, and she still managed to take him down. I’m tellin’ you, man. This bitch is scary. Seriously scary. If we had any other option, we would’ve exhausted it first, but we don’t. We need you on this one, Cap.”

Steve clenched his jaw with a deep inhale through his nose, but nodded.

“I’ll do it, as long as Bucky is kept away from her. We’ve come too far for them to wipe him again.”

There was a simultaneous sigh of relief betwixt Clint and Natasha, and Steve informed them that he needed to get some sleep.

“You’re welcome to stay, though, if you want,” he added, pausing in the doorway of the bedroom. Steve didn’t wait for a response before closing the door. The latch clicked almost inaudibly. He began to peel his shirt off over his head. Every muscle in his body ached, but he paid it no mind as he discarded the shirt in the laundry basket. Another t-shirt replaced the old one almost immediately. His deft fingers began to work on the button of his jeans, and soon enough, they joined his former shirt in the hamper. The replacement for those was a pair of cotton sleep pants. He’d grown quite fond of plaid patterning on his clothing since being awake.

Once he was satisfied with his chosen sleep attire, he flicked the light switch into the ‘off’ position and crawled into bed, tucking the end of the duvet under his feet. Within minutes of his head hitting the pillow, he was fast asleep.

Despite Steve’s impeccable skills in terms of perception, she was the lone exception. He usually always knew when he was being watched, when he was being followed, but not this time. She had the advantage now, and she knew it. She was dressed to the nines and armed just the same. Why armed? She wasn’t quite sure. Her mission for the evening was purely the gathering of outside intelligence, preparing for HYDRA’s grand return.

Just as she expected, Steve’s bedroom had simplistic windows. It was easy enough to slip her tactical knife between the ledges and unlatch the frame. She wedged her fingertips under the frame of the lower pane of glass. Little to no effort was involved in prying it up, and she slipped in without ceremony.

“You may want to advise Fury to invest in better security, Captain,” she whispered, careful not to wake him. He looked so tranquil with his eyes closed. She knew better. This man was anything but peaceful. The fall of her organization was on his head, and if she had it her way, that head would soon be on a platter.

With no hesitance, she paused beside him, leaned down and kissed his forehead, leaving a smeared print of red lipstick across his temple. He stirred slightly, eyes twitched beneath his lids.

“Ssshhh…” she whispered, pressing her lips to the same spot. “Back to sleep, Steven.”

At the mention of his name, his expression softened and he turned his head towards her. She waited for his hushed breathy snores to resume, then crept quickly and quietly back out the window from which she entered. Before closing it, she sighed.

“I will see you again soon, Captain Rogers.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a few OCs in this chapter.  
> In case my descriptions aren't quite enough:  
> Dr. Molly Valen is modeled (physically) after Holly Marie Combs.  
> Bristol Collins is modeled (physically) after Amber Heard.
> 
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

“Mission report, darlin’,” he muttered in your ear. He was a peculiar man, with a spiked mop of black hair, twisted and pulled to stand on end on top of his head. In one of his hazel eyes, the brown overpowered the green. The other, however, was a seemingly even mix of the two. His jaw was sharp, angular, like the edges of a diamond. Centimeters of salt-and-pepper scruff were raised around his flesh, like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. You knew Brock well enough to know that he probably hadn’t. The scars marring his skin didn’t detract from how handsome of a man he really was. It only served as a reminder of why the Avengers needed to be disposed of.

“The former S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives are fully unaware, sir. They believe HYDRA is no more,” you replied monotonously. Brock gave you a prideful smirk and kissed the side of your head, just above your ear. A sinister chuckle bubbled from his throat, reverberating in his chest. He clapped a hand on the shoulder pointed away from him and pulled you into a half-hug.

“Our new arrivals will be here in a few hours. I expect you to show them the ropes. You know the drill, right?” You nodded impassively. The smirk playing on his lips contorted into a sneer. His fingertips began to dig into your shoulder, but you knew better than to react. You maintained a straight face, staring blankly ahead.

“That’s not an answer.” His grip tightened, and you made the mistake of wincing. It took mere seconds for him to release you and reel back. The back of his hand collided with your cheek, sending you sprawling across the floor. “Use your words.”

You looked up at him stoically, putting up the front of being unaffected.

“Yes, sir. I’m ready,” you stated firmly. He gave you a look of acknowledgement and extended a hand. You took it cautiously. Brock gave you a sympathetic look and pulled you closer, wrapping one arm around you. His palm came to rest on the small of your back, and the other found the back of your head. He pulled it into the crook of his neck and pressed a loving kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m sorry, princess, but you did this to yourself. You know the rules,” he muttered, stroking your hair slowly. You allowed your arms to circle his torso. “Don’t make me hurt you like that. You know I don’t like it.”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, starting to move away. He clicked his tongue, making a _tsk tsk_ sound, and pulled you back. Your body was flush with his.

“Don’t forget to report to Dr. Valen before you join the others, doll.” You nodded, but quickly followed up with an affirmative verbal response. Brock seemed pleased with this, so he let his arms slide down your curves until his hands came to rest at his side. Spinning on his heel, he headed towards the door. He stopped just short and looked over his shoulder at you.

“Good night, my little python. See you in the morning.” With that, he left, not awaiting a reply. You sighed and grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair. _That man will be the death of me, I swear._

You hurried down the corridor, anxious to finally get some sleep. On your right was a seemingly endless row of doors, which you followed down to the second one from the end. The door was home to a golden placard, with DR. MOLLY VALEN engraved on it. You raised a hesitant hand and knocked twice.

“Come in, dear,” a cheerful voice called in response. The brass knob was strangely warm in your grasp. It turned with ease and you pushed the door open.

Dr. Valen was a rather petite woman, slender and somewhat short. Her dark brown eyes felt like endless pools, as there was no apparent separation between iris and pupil. Her lips were narrow, hiding slightly in-turned canine teeth amongst the otherwise flawless rows. The hair cascading down her back paralleled her eyes uncannily. More often than not, it was pulled back into a ponytail, but it was getting quite late, so you assumed this was an exception.

“Oh! I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow, honey! Brock said you may not be back tonight,” she chirped, packing a group of papers into her bag. Her sturdy oak desk was devoid of any lingering sheets, save for a pair of files stacked neatly together on the uppermost left corner.

“He asked me to check in with you on my way to the bunker,” you answered vacantly. Dr. Valen raised an eyebrow. She then gestured to the files you’d just been eyeing.

“I wanted you to look over those. It’s a compilation of all the information we have on our new recruits. Brock mentioned that you’d be taking them under your wing, teaching them. That’s very admirable, dear. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.” She palmed the files for a moment, then slid them over to you. “Seems to me that you may have quite a bit of reading to do this evening. Might as well leave you to it, huh?”

A joyful titter fell from her lips, and she gave you a kind smile.

“Off to bed with you, then. Have a good night, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning.” You slowly gathered the paperwork from her desk and exited peacefully, bidding her a safe commute and a nice evening.

On the trek to the bunker, you checked over the names neatly printed on the file tabs.

_Hoskings, Jack_

_Hoskings, Heidi_

Photographs of each were stapled to the files, but you elected to ignore them in favor of getting to bed as soon as possible. Rather than spend hours reading things you’ll just be retold in the morning, skimming the files seemed like the best option.

Once you were settled in your room, you flipped Jack’s file open first. There was most likely considerable overlap in the files, since the pair were clearly related.

The first page was nothing more than information on his first eight years of life, detailing his education. He’d excelled as a child, skipping grades left and right. At the age when he should’ve been in third grade, he was assisting in tutoring students in middle school. _Impressive. Now I won’t have to dumb down everything I say._

The pages that followed detailed his family, stating that his parents were both former S.H.I.E.L.D. employees that were killed in the line of duty when Jack was no more than twelve years old, leaving him and his twin, Heidi, in the care of an aunt who despised them. They were subject to vigorous testing by various labs trying to recreate Abraham Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum as a means of income for said aunt. You cringed internally at the thought. Who would be so cruel as to subject mere children to that kind of torture? It’s a wonder they survived.

There was a small knock at your door, and you muttered a quick ‘come in’. The door cracked a bit, separating from the frame, to reveal your closest friend, Bristol.

Bristol was an unusual young woman. She was conventionally attractive, with long blonde hair falling just above her breasts and steely blue eyes like the Alaskan coastline. All the curves of her body were offset by the prominent bones in her torso, and despite her full cheeks, her lower jaw jutted out slightly on the sides.

But tonight, her hair was tucked up into a neat bun, and she had a mug clasped between her hands.

“Hey, sweetie. Thought you might need this.” She gave you a gentle smile and extended her arms, handing the mug to you. You took it cautiously and peered in. Though masked by a cloud of whipped cream, the mug contained hot chocolate.

“Thanks, Collins. You’re right, I definitely needed this,” you responded, taking a sip. She let out a hushed giggle and reached forward, wiping a glob of cream from the tip of your nose.

“What are you readin'?” Bristol was definitely the curious type, which never much presented an issue unless you were in a hurry.

“New recruit files,” you chided, sliding Heidi’s file to Bristol. Her eyes flew over the pages, wide open the whole time. “They’ll be here in the morning, and I might need your help with training them.”

She nodded, not lifting her eyes. It took her less than a minute to read through every page, and she set the file back on your bed.

“You find Rogers?” she asked, breaking the silence that had settled in. You nodded. “And?”

“And when the time comes, I’m going to destroy him from the inside out.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

There was an unfamiliar scent lingering in Steve’s room. With dulled senses, one would never notice it, but Steve’s were anything _but_ dull. With a sharp, whistling inhale, he detected a faint trace of blackberry, warped by a hint of mint. That set his teeth on edge, making his stomach turn over. He faltered slightly, flinging himself from the sheets tangled around his calves. That wasn’t Natasha’s perfume, and he chuckled to himself whilst praying it didn’t belong to Clint. Someone had been in his room. Someone had entered without his knowledge.

Steve’s eyes darted around the room. His shield remained in place, completely untouched. It was the only possession he had that was worth anything to the world, so obviously it wasn’t a thief. He raised a hand, spreading his fingers evenly through the strewn about blonde mop atop his towering soma. A ragged sigh fell from his lips. He wasn’t exactly sure what to think, whether to be concerned or not.

Without bothering to shower, or change his clothes even, he ventured into the kitchen. Natasha and Clint were involved in a heated discussion over coffee. Clint’s free hand, per usual, was flailing wildly. Natasha, however, was collected. Both hands clutched her mug and her face was stoic. Her half of the debate came to a halt as soon as she spotted Steve, though.

“Mornin’, guys,” he grumbled, grabbing another mug. The dish drainer on the counter rattled in protest of his grab.

“Morning,” Clint muttered back, giving Natasha a warning glare. Either she pretended not to notice or she really didn’t care, because her eyes were trained on Steve’s forehead. For the first time probably in her life, she couldn’t find the right words. So she just pointed.

Steve’s hand flew up instinctively. He ran his hand across his forehead repeatedly, trying to feel for any bumps or deformities. It wasn’t until he pulled his hand back that he realized. Red was smeared across his fingertips.

“You have a lady friend over or something?” Clint quipped, chuckling.

“Unless you were wearing lipstick and perfume last night, no,” Steve replied coldly, drawing a raised eyebrow from Natasha. Clint frowned inwardly, looking down to his mug.

“What perfume, Steve? Who was in your room?” Natasha’s voice was insistent, lined with concern.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s pretty much gone, but it sorta smells like blackberries-“

“Blackberries and mint?” Natasha finished, now drumming her nails on the side of her mug. Steve affirmed, she hesitated. Her gaze settled on the floor.

“It was her.”

“You guys mind keepin’ it down? Christ, it’s like livin’ with a bunch of squawkin’ birds. No offense, Barton.” Bucky snapped in a hushed tone as he ambled into the kitchen somewhat lopsidedly. His hands were occupied with tying his hair back. Once his eyes settled on Steve’s face, Bucky cracked a crooked grin and choked down a snort. “That ain’t your color, punk. Patriotic, but definitely not your color.”

A riotous cough came from Clint as a mouthful of coffee spewed out between his lips, spraying Natasha directly in the face. She clenched her jaw, nostrils flared, and began to count backwards, out loud, from ten. Clint apologized profusely between howls of laughter, scrambling for napkins or paper towels or _something_ , anything!

When Natasha’s irate voice reached the number three, Clint muttered a quick ‘fuck’. He turned and ran. Natasha gave the doubled-over super soldiers a look of contempt, uttering the number two. Bucky was leaning against Steve for support while they both clutched their stomachs.

“One,” she hissed through her teeth. “Barton! I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Steve arched his back, trying to catch a helpful breath, and Natasha ran out, presumably on the hunt for Clint.

“D-Did you… Did you see her… Her face?” Bucky wheezed between heaving chuckles. He paused for a moment to mimic her expression, sending Steve into another fit of laughter.

By the time it had subsided, both men had a horrendous throbbing ache in their abdomens. Tears stained their cheeks, and their throats felt raw. It’d been years since they’d been able to share a laugh like that, for obvious reasons.

“Oh man, Buck. It’s swell to have you back, you know that?” Steve clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Swell to be back, Stevie! Say, what’s with the lipstick, though?” Steve fell silent, staring at his best friend. Bucky took a breath patiently, awaiting a reply. Steve’s mind raced, trying to find a good answer without having to dodge more questions later. It was no use. He had to tell Bucky.

“There’s this girl,” he began. Bucky was quick to interrupt.

“Ain’t no virtue left in you, Captain!” he jested, placing a hand over his heart. “Ah, another good fella down!”

Steve frowned, shaking his head.

“No, Buck, not like that. She… She’s my new mission. I gotta go after her before she kills more innocent people. Guess she got in last night.” Bucky gave a quick nod of understanding, but his face paled moments later.

“She works for HYDRA, don’t she?” Steve bit the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah, Buck. She does.” Bucky’s face went blank, but he quickly forced a snarky smile at the sound of Clint’s screams flying past the window, followed by a slew of insults from Natasha.

“Don’t you worry, Steve. They ain’t gettin’ to me any time soon. Can’t fight their way outta a wet paper sack without me anyhow.”

Even with the reassurance in Bucky’s voice, Steve was still panicking on the inside. He told himself Bucky was right, but no matter what he wanted to believe, he knew the truth. He knew what they were after, and he wasn’t going to lose Bucky again. Steve would do anything to keep Bucky safe, even if that meant Steve dying in the process.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! More OCs.  
> The Hoskings twins are modeled (physically) after Emily Browning and Thomas Dekker.
> 
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

An incessant banging noise drew you from your sleep. You shook the remainder of sleep from your head and bolted towards the door, yanking it open. Brock leaned into the doorway, giving you a good once over.

“Good morning to you, too, honey. Brought you something.” He was using his typical suave tone, but the look in his eyes said he was after something more. Brock held out a long, narrow box. It was a hard case of some sort. The silver latches gleamed in the reflection of the unforgiving fluorescent lights. You cocked an eyebrow, but took the box.

“Go on, open it,” he urged, placing a silver key in your palm. The key fit into the middle latch, and it clicked as you turned it. You popped the two outer latches open, then returned to open the middle. Inside the box was a pair of collapsible taser batons. Brock watched as your eyes burned bright, and he grinned. You pulled one out and flicked your wrist, expanding it to its full length. A small button kneaded against your palm. The temptation was too much, and you had to push it. Violent blue sparks flickered across the end, and your enthusiasm only grew. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, Brock added the cherry on top.

“They’re made of vibranium, sugar. If you’re going after Captain Rogers, you’ll need something that can compete with his shield.” The look of utter shock on your face melted into an ear-to-ear grin. You pressed down on the button again, compressed the baton, and put it back in the box.

“Brock…” you sighed softly. “Thank you. You really are the best, you know that?”

He chuckled, snaking his arm around your hip.

“Lock it up and we’ll go meet the newbies.” Without hesitation, you snapped each latch shut and twisted the key in the center until it clicked again. No sooner than you took the key from the lock, Brock was pulling you into the hallway, keeping his palm pressed to your hip bone.

The walk was brief. It wasn’t exactly a far journey to begin with. But by the time you arrived in the designated training area, your sides ached. Though he wasn’t typically the humorous type, Brock had been cracking jokes every step of the way. Bad puns, knock knock jokes, you name it, he told it. His intentions became clear in that. He never made much of an effort to make you laugh unless he had ulterior motives. You just didn’t know exactly what he was after.

Just inside the doorway stood a pair of unfamiliar faces. One was clearly female, with choppy sienna hair. Her eyes were wide, swirling from blue to green to brown in sequence, from the outside in. She had a round face with an unpronounced chin. It complimented her narrow frame. One of her eyebrows arched as you entered, and Brock dropped his arm.

The other was a man not much younger than yourself. His eyes almost mirrored hers precisely, except his were swimming with curiosity versus the cynicism lining hers. Unlike his sister, he had short, dark hair, slicked straight back, and narrow lips, which were twisted into half a smirk.

“My dear, these are the Hoskings twins. This is Jack.” Brock gestured to the twin on the left. You extended your hand to shake his, and he reciprocated. “And this is Heidi.”

You turned to her, ready to shake hers next. Brock introduced you, telling them that the others would be along shortly.

“But in the meantime,” you grinned. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” Jack’s ears perked up a bit at that, and the twins exchanged snarky smirks. When they looked back to you, though, there was something different. Their pupils began to expand and contract rapidly, like the ebb and flow of the ocean. With each fluctuation, they grew larger until the void stretched from corner to corner.

“Bring ‘em in!” Brock hollered. You crossed your arms over your chest and watched as two familiar agents entered. They were both tall and burly, like many of the other agents. You’d only briefly met them once, no names exchanged, but you never forgot a face. The blackened eyes of the twins seemed to light up at the expense of these men.

“Let’s get this show on the road, gentlemen,” Heidi snickered, rolling her head in a circle. The agents looked at each other and chuckled a bit. The more muscular of the two took a step forward and clenched his fist. Heidi almost looked bored for a second. She let out a sigh and began to admire her nails. He drew back his fist, ready to land a punch on her jaw, but as soon as he began to gather forward momentum, her hand shot up and grabbed his fist. With one flick of her wrist, you could actually hear his bones breaking. The first snap was his radius, the second, his ulna. It was followed by a trio of cracks and a scream of agony.

The agent dropped to his knees on the floor, wailing curses. Without looking up from her nails, Heidi picked up her foot and slammed the sole of her tennis shoe into his face. Another deafening crunch sounded, and he flew back a good seven feet, at minimum. When you looked at his lifeless form, the damage was clear. The center portion of his face was caved in, it’s shape matching Heidi’s shoe. She blew on her nail and rubbed them on her shirt, smearing a thin line of blood down the blue fabric. Her eyes shifted back to their original color, and she smiled at you.

Jack cracked his knuckles behind you. He shook his hands out, causing more minute pops. The remaining agent, still on his feet, turned towards the door like he was about to run. Still, Jack was too fast. Without even so much as a running start, he leapt into the air, twisting about with his feet tumbling over his head. He flew over the top of you, landing perfectly in line with the agent’s back. Jack fisted the back of the agent’s shirt for leverage and smashed his forehead into the man’s spine.

His face went blank and he dropped. Paralysis had set in. Jack had, with his head alone, severed the agent’s spinal cord. Admittedly, you were quite awed. So naturally, you had to applaud.

“Impressive. Very impressive,” you insisted. Jack turned back to look at you with his natural eyes. The sinister grin playing on his lips was a bit unsettling, but in the best possible way.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Brock move to Jack’s victim. He was still alive, but suffering one of the cruelest punishments a man could face. Brock, being the ever-so-merciful man he was, took it upon himself to put a bullet in the agent’s skull and ended his suffering. He wiped the back spatter off the toe of his boot with the back of the now-deceased agent’s shirt and turned back to you.

“Let’s go eat, yeah?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sorry for all the OCs. They have a specific purpose.  
> Gabriel Petran is modeled (physically) after Zacky Vengeance.
> 
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

"We’ve got a problem, fellas,” Natasha sighed, setting her satellite phone on the table. Clint gestured to the slowly darkening purple mark under his left eye and scoffed.

“Yeah, no shit, Tash. You messed with the money-maker.” Natasha wound up and swatted Clint in the back of the head. He hissed and began to rub it, as if that would make it stop hurting. When he looked up to glare, she had beaten him to it. Her eyes were narrowed and her head was cocked to the side slightly. Bucky let out a snort and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“What’s the problem?” Steve asked calmly. Natasha’s gaze flitted from Clint to the soldiers across from him. Again, she sighed. Clint knew what that sound meant, and it was anything but good.

“No… They _didn’t_ ,” Clint muttered. “Did they?” Natasha nodded.

“You two gonna tell us what’s going on or do I gotta beat it outta ya?” Bucky chided. After spending two months alone with Steve, his old Brooklyn accent had returned with a vengeance, though no one was really surprised. Even his Russian was spoken with an opposing lilt.

“Brock Rumlow is what’s going on,” Natasha snipped, resting her hands on her hips. Steve’s lips parted as he drew in a sharp breath. Rumlow was alive?

“But the Triskelion…?”

“He survived it. Looks like Freddy Krueger now, but he survived it,” Clint grumbled, tapping the heel of his boot on the floor. He glanced up at Steve and noticed that, while he understood, he looked confused.

“Rumlow has been building a team,” Natasha clarified. “This team, they’re like us. They’re exactly like us. They have an answer to every one of us, someone who is skilled enough to take us down. Like the girl who broke in last night.” Clint snorted out a name, followed by a cutting quip of “bitch”. Bucky and Steve exchanged an incredulous look, but said nothing.

“She’s gone through a lot of training similar to mine, but with a classic HYDRA twist. If there’s anyone in the world who stands a chance at taking me out, it’s her,” Natasha continued, ignoring Clint. He swallowed the full-on laugh building in his throat.

“Like on a date? ‘Cause she’s hot!” he snickered. Natasha flexed her fist in his direction and he winced, earning a hushed titter from the soldiers. He looked cautiously over his shoulder at her. “You got those files on you?”

She nodded and disappeared into the living room momentarily, returning with a S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued tablet.

“Guess I’m reading you two into this right now,” she sighed. Once she tapped it, a dialogue box popped up, requesting her password. Her fingertips flew over the keypad, she made a few more taps on the screen, and a picture popped up of a young man with a full face, but defined nasal structure. His eyes were a vibrant green, but vacant, like he was staring straight through them all. A cropped mop of black hair was hanging loosely across his forehead. There seemed to be some kind of marking below the collar of his shirt, which struck Steve as strange.

“This is Gabriel Petran. Romanian born. Moved to Ukraine as a teenager. Grew up less than half a mile from the Chernobyl disaster site. After the accident, he changed. If you come up against him, do not let him touch you with his bare hands. Anything he touches dies instantly. Knowing Rumlow, he’ll try to use Petran against Banner, in case of the Other Guy shows up. If he’s got gloves on, he’s safe, but do not let his hands touch you, and-“

“And for fuck’s sake, don’t try to kill him. That’ll only piss him off.” Clint reached around and swiped the screen to the right.

“This one,” he hissed through his teeth. “Bristol Collins. Don’t let that pretty little smile fool you; she’s lethal with a crossbow. Grew up in the south, ‘til her old man made the mistake of swinging on her. She put a bullet in his head and took off. Been with HYDRA ever since.” The picture was of a pretty blonde girl, maybe only eighteen or so. To Steve, she didn’t look like much of a threat. But come to think of it, neither did Natasha when he first met her. Nor Bruce Banner, for that matter.

Natasha flicked the tablet again, bringing up a picture of two brunettes, one male, one female.

“These are the latest additions to their team.” Her voice was firm. “The Hoskings twins, Jack and Heidi, or as we know them, Jekyll and Hyde. Their parents were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, killed in action. They were treated like lab rats by a group of so-called ‘scientists’ trying to recreate Erskine’s serum, and things went wrong. Really wrong…” Natasha was about to elaborate when Clint butt in.

“They’re insanely fast and incredibly strong. Like you guys, if you were force-fed meth. S.H.I.E.L.D. was watching them before the fall, and that girl, Heidi, she’s got a short fuse. One wrong word and she’ll crush your skull. Some serious shit right there.”

Natasha swiped once more, bringing up the same picture she’d shown Steve of the girl that was supposedly coming after him. He turned to Bucky and explained the girl as best as he possibly could, telling him that the picture was a few years old and she probably looked a little different. Bucky’s gaze dropped to his lap.

“Yeah, I… I know her,” he grumbled, clenching his fists. Steve reached to comfort his best friend, but Bucky was too fast. His chair flew back, and he was on his feet pacing.

“How?” Clint demanded, resting his elbows on the table top. Bucky just kept shaking his head and muttering ‘no’.

“We’re done for today.” Steve growled and rose to attempt to corral Bucky.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm almost done with introducing OCs. Like I said before, they're all essential to the plot.  
> Nico Zapatero is modeled (physically) after Victor Rasuk.
> 
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

“Honey, Brock’s lookin’ for you,” Bristol noted, putting a hand on your shoulder. You looked up from the mission report in your lap and back at her.

“Did he happen to mention why?” She shook her head and clicked her tongue, making a _tsk tsk_ sound.

“You know better than to ask. Best get goin’ before he gets tired of waitin’. You know he don’t got no patience.” You wanted to laugh at the use of a double negative, which made it sound like Brock actually had patience, but Bristol didn’t mean it that way. You’d learned it was a cultural thing to speak that way. She grew up in Louisiana; so naturally, her speech patterns would mimic the regional norm.

You sighed and moved the report aside, stuffing the paperwork back into the folder. Bristol stuck out her hand expectantly, waiting for you to hand it to her.

“You know me so well, Bris. What would I do without you?” you asked with a pleasant smile, placing the file against her fingers. She giggled and tucked a stray flaxen strand behind her ear.

“You’d fall apart, hun. Now get your tail in gear. Go on, get goin’.” As you stood up, she patted your back, right between your shoulder blades before pushing you towards the hall. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself on the way down to Brock’s room.

Before you could even knock, he had the door open, ushering you in with one hand.

“Sit down,” Brock commanded in a collected tone. He gestured to the vacant chair at his desk, and you took a seat. “Listen, I need a favor.”

 _There it is… The ulterior motive he’d been trying to hide earlier._ You raised an eyebrow.

“That’s a bit vague, sir.” Your response was clipped, and clearly, he didn’t appreciate it. He drew back his elbow and clenched his fist, then swung. The way his knuckles collided with the apple of your cheek sent your head backwards, but you quickly recoiled. It was getting progressively more and more difficult to keep your temper in check, though needless to say, you had to.

“Don’t get smart with me. You know how I feel about that.” There was no fluctuation in his voice as he kept it calm. His eyes screamed of anger, mimicked by his body language, but his overall demeanor suggested that he was trying not to react much further.

“What do you need, sir?” you asked, crossing your legs. It had become habit for you to act as if the pain didn’t faze you. You’d taken harder hits from men up to three times your size, so Brock, in comparison, wasn’t as big and bad as he cracked himself up to be.

He shook out his fist, letting his fingers fly freely, with nearly inaudible pops coming from each joint.

“There’s a party tomorrow night. It’ll be filled with former S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives under the guise of a charity ball. In addition to ex-employees, all the Avengers will be there. You are going, and you’re taking Nico. Nico can hack into the feed of every cell phone in the room, and I’ll have passwords for everything. Social media, bank accounts, and the like. Once the two of you return, Nico can get into phone logs and text messages, and we can dig up new dirt on what they’re planning. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you uttered, standing. “But if you only need Nico’s expertise, may I ask why I am being sent as well?”

Brock’s eyes narrowed considerably, and for a moment, you entertained the thought of him striking again. But, to your surprise, he refrained and instead allowed one of his hands to rest at the base of your spine, drawing your body flush with his. He gave you that charming, scintillating grin.

“Well, partially because I wanna see you all dressed up, sweetheart, but also because Nico will need a distraction. I’m going to need you to keep Stark and Banner occupied so Nico can get in. With a body like that, all eyes will undoubtedly be on you.”

He began to place a line of open-mouthed kisses from just behind your ear to the hollow of your throat, and then he branched off over your left collar bone. You bit back an inappropriate whimper of pleasure as he bit down on your shoulder. His grip was firm, but not painful.

Wasting no time, he made his way back to your ear and whispered, “Perhaps once you get back, I’ll help you out of the beautiful dress the girls picked.” His hand slid down to grasp your ass briefly before he swatted it playfully.

“When do we leave, sir?” There was an almost indistinguishable waiver in your voice, but it fell upon deaf ears, as Brock was too distracted to notice.

“The two of you will leave early tomorrow morning. New York is almost a four hour drive, and I will not have you being late. I’m sending Collins with to assist in preparations beforehand. There’s a hotel room reserved under Nico’s alias, and you’ll receive the amended IDs prior to your departure.” Brock had taken on a grave, professional manner. Every trace of his earlier playfulness had vacated his eyes. “Nico’s waiting to discuss some things in the north training room. Go.”

He pointed a marred finger at the door and shoved you towards it. You gave him an affirmative reply and departed unceremoniously, taking care to shut the door behind you.

Physically, Nico didn’t seem to present much of a threat. He wasn’t terribly muscular, nor unusually tall. At most, he stood about 5’9”. With an oval face and a somewhat wide set nose, he was clearly Dominican. His lips were full and his teeth were just a fraction off center. There was a scar buried in his left eyebrow, leaving a void amongst the otherwise thick hairs. But your favorite thing about him, physically, were his eyes. They were an incredibly dark shade of brown, almost indecipherable from his pupils. He almost always looked like a deer in the headlights with a smile on his face.

But physical aspects aside, the thing you loved most about Nico was his mind. It was constantly bustling at a blistering pace, processing new ideas and mapping out blueprints. He’d earned his PhD just a few months ago, but he had just barely reached the age of twenty. To say this kid was a fucking genius would be a cruel and unreasonable understatement. Nico was brilliant, a literally prodigy, and you considered it an honor to know him.

In the time you’d been with HYDRA, Nico and Bristol had always been around. They’d trained with and against you. When it came down to it, they were really the only family you had left. Since day one, the three of you had been, quite literally, thick as thieves. When your parents went missing, they were your strength. They kept you standing, took care of you. Bristol was a few years older than you, and Nico not much younger. After all the time you’d spent with them, the loss of either was not an option. Without them, you would crumble completely.

“Hey, shitfucker,” Nico quipped, not looking up from the mass quantities of paperwork scattered across the floor. He had a pen bouncing up and down between his index and middle fingers, a pencil tucked behind his ear, and a protractor protruding from between his teeth.

“Hey, dicksack,” you snapped back with a grin. He chuckled, then puffed up his cheeks and sighed heavily.

“We need to work out a back-story for tomorrow. Rumlow said he’ll get us temporary IDs, but if people start asking questions, we need to have the same answers.” You only nodded in response, taking a seat on the floor beside him.

“Don’t stop working on my account; I know you can multi-task, Nic.” In front of him was a freshly mapped blueprint. He was still finalizing the details on it, but it looked an awful lot like a suit of some sort.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

The flight from Alexandria to the former Stark Tower was rather uneventful. Fury had made the sudden call to pull everyone from the field. Granted that he was no longer in charge, he was always the one man that no one wanted to piss off. When he made a request, they would never hesitate to follow his lead. Not a single one of them.

Upon return, one half of the Avengers rejoined the others. Tony and Bruce, per the usual, had been cooped up in the lab for days, only leaving to use the restroom and grab food. During the destruction of HYDRA bases, they had seized the machine used to wipe Bucky’s memories. Bruce gave it a careful once-over, and quickly determined that if he could reverse the polarity and tweak the electrical impulses, he may just be able to give Bucky back all his memories. When Steve decided to prod further on the process, though he didn’t always understand what Bruce was talking about, he discovered that without removing the entire frontal lobe, there was virtually no way for all of those memories to be lost. They were merely repressed by electric stimuli, leaving them temporarily inaccessible, hence why he continually had to be wiped.

Tony was adamant that all the work they’d put into it had been successful, and, despite the fact that Bucky had recovered quite a bit of what had been missing, this would help him regain specific memories while potentially leaving the less-than-desirable ones latent.

“Steve!” a female voice snapped, bringing Steve back to reality. He lifted his gaze from his lap to find a woman with chestnut brown hair pulled back into a bun seated across from him in a formerly vacant chair. He raised both eyebrows for a second.

“Sorry, Agent Hill, I’m a little out of it today,” he muttered, forcing a sheepishly crooked smile. The agent shrugged it off and began her explanation from the beginning for what seemed like the fifth time.

“If we lose focus now, people are going to end up getting hurt… I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, Captain, but this is not the time to get distracted.” Her voice was firm, but there was an attempt at sympathy as well. “We received an anonymous tip that there will be members of Rumlow’s team at the party tonight. I assume Agent Romanoff read you in?”

Steve nodded, keeping his eyes from straying. Agent Hill took a deep breath and laid her palms flat on the table top. Her lips pursed.

“Then you know how dangerous they are. When you come in contact with them, and trust me, you will, do not engage them in anything other than conversation. Do not allow them any sort of inkling that you know who they are. Use only the names they give you, not the names you know are truly theirs. Do not probe them too much, or they’ll know you’re fishing for a lie. You don’t need me to tell you this, Captain. They have no regard for human life. If the team isn’t careful, they will not hesitate to slaughter anyone in their paths.”

Again, Steve nodded. He knew she was right. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was uneasy, leaving him somewhat nauseated. How could someone care so little about others that they become a human bulldozer? What the hell happened to these kids to turn them into such monsters? Steve had faced many things in this world that made him question himself, but never could something happen to make him lose sight of the big picture. He had even agreed to be experimented on like a god damn lab rat for the sake of his country. He’d been mocked and ridiculed by the very men he aspired to be like. Hell, even Bucky had a few choice words when he first saw Steve in the Captain America uniform.

“Sorry to interrupt, Maria, but I need to borrow Steve,” Natasha said coolly from the doorway. Steve looked up and she beckoned to him with one finger. With an apologetic glance towards Agent Hill, he stood and pushed his chair in, then made his way to Natasha.

“What is it?” She glanced over to Maria, then back to Steve.

“Tony’s tailor is here. You boys need to get your tuxes fitted for tonight. Sam and Clint are already waiting. Fifth floor, third door on the left.” Natasha gestured to the elevator with her thumb and patted Steve on the shoulder, almost pushing him towards it. He waivered a bit on his feet, but complied, leaving Natasha and Maria to discuss their own nefarious dress plans.

The sharp sound of Tony’s griping hit Steve’s ears before he even entered the room.

“Hey! Hey! Keep your hands off the goods!” Following that, there was a yelp and a chorus of chuckles. Steve was all too familiar with the sound, and Natasha was correct. Both Sam and Clint were in with Tony and the tailor, as well as James Rhodes, or Rhodey, as they called him.

As soon as Steve slipped into the room, a hanger was thrust into his hands, followed by a rapid succession of orders. He was told to put on the suit as he normally would, put on his shoes and do up his bow tie, and then sit down and wait his turn. Tony’s suit was pinned for alterations, so he slid into the changing room, which happened to just be an empty closet, as soon as Steve exited.

With leery eyes, Steve watched the small man with a pin cushion strapped to his wrist. The man made hurried circles around Clint, pinching, pulling, and pinning the fabric in certain areas. It was a wonder to Steve that a person could move so fast. He watched as the man clicked his tongue in disapproval as Clint made jokes about the way the inseam was tacked and how close his hands were to Clint’s “goodie bag”.

It seemed to take only a few minutes for everyone to make it through the circus that was alterations. After Steve’s tuxedo had been pinned for adjustments, the man was quick to shoo everyone from the room, insisting that he needed to get to work if he were to have them all ready within a matter of hours.

“You doin’ alright, Cap?” Rhodey asked, placing his palm on Steve’s shoulder. If he were honest with Rhodey, Steve would have to say no. He was far from alright. The thought that _she_ could potentially show up was like someone shoved a knife into his chest, and it felt like he couldn’t breathe. He was unbelievably anxious.

This woman was meant to kill him, and she would not do so with mercy. But Steve, he wasn’t like that. He firmly believed that killing another was a last resort, not a hobby. He didn’t want to kill her. For every life he’d ever been forced to take, a year of nightmares and guilt were added on to his sentence. It was already Hell for Steve. He had trouble eating, even more trouble sleeping, and he saw no possible way out of it.

“Yeah, Rhodey. I’m good, thanks.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters will be the start of the real drama!
> 
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

This hotel looked like a god damn frat party. Droves of men, if you could call them that, were stacked side to side along every corridor and entry way. They stalked along like hawks to prey, and that was enough to set your teeth on edge. You were no stranger to the occasional wandering eye, nor was Bristol, but these meatheads took it to a whole new level. They were outright gawking half of the time, with their jaws unhinged. You had to remind yourself to keep your eyes trained on the front desk. Bristol had a tense grip on your forearm, with Nico leading a few steps ahead of you.

The front desk staff included a young woman with short red hair. Her palm separated from her round cheek as she looked up at your trio.

“Welcome to the Grand, do you have a reservation?” Her tone would come off as cheerful to most, but to you, she just sounded tired and anxious. Poor girl was probably subjected to extensive aggressive flirtation that was both uncomfortable and unwelcomed. You empathized with her. This couldn’t possibly be an easy job.

“Yeah, should be under Ben Barsetti,” Nico answered with a charming grin. Her gold name tag caught your eye. Her name was Katie.

“I’ll need the credit card used to reserve the room and some form of picture identification, sir.” There was a shift in her facial expression, and her forced smile turned into a genuine grin. Nico fished the required plastics from his wallet and slid them across the counter top, making brief contact with Katie’s hand. A blazing blush set across her cheeks. She ran the card and then handed them both back to Nico, seeming almost determined not to make physical contact with him again.

“That’s so cute!” Bristol squealed in your ear, nudging you with her elbow. You shot her a half smirk and heard Nico thank the girl for her help. He turned back, placing one key card in your hand.

“Fourth floor, room 446. I’ll meet you up there in a few. Gotta have my tux sent up,” he muttered, his cheeks turning a dark shade of red. Bristol giggled and bumped you again. With a raised eyebrow, you nodded and grabbed Bristol’s arm, beginning to pull her towards the elevator. With one look, you knew she wanted to stay and watch Nico talk to Katie, but there was no way you were allowing her to embarrass the pair. After a few seconds of insistent tugging, Bristol finally caved and followed to the elevator.

You pressed the ‘up’ button, and it lit up in a pearly color. Drumming your fingertips against your upper arm, you paid no mind to the steadily expanding group behind of apes behind you.

A mild _ding!_ signaled the arrival of the elevator, and the doors parted. No more than three people disembarked, and others began to pour in. First you and Bristol boarded, then a group of men who reeked of alcohol, tobacco, and likely sexual transmitted diseases. There was a wary glance from Bristol, and her hand returned to your forearm. Her vise-like grip allowed for her neatly trimmed nails to dig into your flesh. You leaned forward and pressed the round button marked with the corresponding floor number, and the doors slid shut.

There was almost an eerie silence, save for the animalistic breathing surrounding you. Almost on cue, one of the men spoke up behind you.

“You ladies here alone?” He had shaggy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and if it weren’t for his impure intentions, you might have found him attractive.

“Does it look like I’m alone?” You pointed to your companion and rolled your eyes. Bristol snorted inwardly and covered her mouth. He leaned forward, resting a hand on your ribs. Without a second thought, you threw your elbow back. It connected with his nose with a sickening crunch. Before he could remove his hand, you grabbed his wrist and twisted around, wrenching his arm behind his back. With minimal force, you shoved him face-first against the wall of the elevator, making his head bounce off.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch someone without their permission?” you hissed seething. He merely nodded. The fingers of your left hand tangled in his hair and you yanked his head back, making him look at you.

“I asked you a question,” you cooed in his ear. He stuttered out the word ‘yes’, and you let him go with a forward jolt. All eyes were on you, as was a fresh patch of blood, and Bristol was stifling her laughter, covering her mouth.

Another bell sounded and the doors reopened. Without looking at the floor number, you grabbed Bristol and tugged her along. A glare passed your shoulder to the man clutching his face, followed by a sadistic grin. You gave him a short wave just as the doors slid shut again.

 

“Seriously? We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, and you’re running around breaking faces?” Nico snapped, hanging his suit on the rack. You sighed.

“If he didn’t want to get hurt, he shouldn’t have touched me like that.” Bristol giggled beside you, tugging the last pin from your hair. Nico shot her a glare, reminding her not to encourage that kind of behavior.

“Don’t be such a dad, Nic. He deserved it. You didn’t see what happened,” she insisted. Her fingers ran through your curls and she shook them out. “Now go get that dress on, darlin’. You already look stunnin’, but I need to see the finished product.”

You grabbed the garment bag off the rack next to Nico’s bag and Bristol beamed with pride. Nico just rolled his eyes and parted his hair just above his left eye, slicking it back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger! Hopefully the next one will be up either tonight or tomorrow!  
> To my beloved Pharm: is this gravy getting thick enough? : D
> 
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

Bucky watched apprehensively as people swarmed through the doors. Some of them he recognized from the helicarriers, others from meeting them in passing. Most, though, didn’t register as familiar to him. Except _her_. He knew her better than anyone else in the room, including Steve. He knew everything from the exact curve of her hips to the exact pattern of the freckles on her neck. Every inch of her flesh was engrained in his mind. No matter how many times they wiped his memories, her face remained. Steve had mentioned that she works for HYDRA, so he assumed that’s where he knew her from, but things were still a bit fuzzy for him.

She was in the midst of a discussion with Stark, and in the pit of his stomach, Bucky had felt the familiar stirring of envy. Her finger swirled around the rim of her glass. Stark leaned against the bar, leaving next to no space between them. As soon as her hand touched his arm, Bucky just about lost it. Before he could stop himself, he had made his way across the room, stopping just short of her. Neither of them acknowledged him until he cleared his throat and held his hand out to her.

“Would… Would you like to dance?” he asked, trying to maintain a cool demeanor. She set her drink down and apologized to Stark for cutting their conversation short, saying she’s wanted to dance since she walked in the door. When her fingertips came to rest in Bucky’s hand, he pulled her close. One of his hands came to rest on her hip as he led her towards the large group of people and further away from Tony. Bucky could feel Tony’s eyes burning into his back, but elected to ignore it in favor of the young woman in his arms.

Once Bucky was satisfied with the distance they’d made, he tucked one arm around her waist, clutching the small of her back. His free hand enveloped hers and they began to sway to the peaceful music. She leaned in and put her head against his shoulder, and his feet stuttered for a moment.

“Careful, James,” she whispered. “You’ll step on my toes again.”

_“What are we going to do, James?” she choked out. He ran his fingertips carefully across her abdomen, watching the flickering flame of the candle cast dancing shadows across her skin._

_“I don’t know, darling. You know they won’t be happy about this,” he replied, kissing her forehead. She hesitated for a moment, then curled herself up in his arms. Her frame trembled against him, and for the first time in a long time, he was truly fearful. If his employer found out about this, they would do anything to stop it from happening. They both knew that._

_“Will they try to stop us?” Her voice was shaky, just like his hands. He shook his head._

_“No, my love. They won’t try. They will succeed. It can’t happen, you know that. I just wish there was another way.” She nodded._

_“They may be able to take your memories, James, but they’ll never be able to take this.” She placed a small piece of paper in his hand. It was a grayscale image, with her real name printed across the top. He knew she wanted him to always remember that it was from her, for she rarely went without using an alias for any purpose._

_He took a deep breath and looked down at the picture. A smile crept across his lips, and he tucked it into his boot. She was right. That’s one place they’d never check, but he’d always find it._

Bucky shifted on his feet, tightening his grip. Her body relaxed into his like they were melding together. Comfort was a tough thing for him to come by these days, but it felt _right_ to him.

“Mind introducing me to your lady friend, Buck?” Steve snorted, clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. The woman broke from his grip and he cast his eyes downward, beginning to rub the back of his neck. She held her hand out to Steve and introduced herself instead. Steve’s lips grazed her knuckles.

“Wonderful to meet you, ma’am. I’m Steve. Steve Rogers,” he replied. Bucky’s blood began to boil. If anyone should’ve known not to interrupt that kind of moment, it was Steve, and yet the little punk did it anyways! Bucky clenched his fist for a moment, but quickly relaxed and he realized the other hand was still tangled with hers. She gave him a firm squeeze.

“I’m well aware, sir.” Her retort was sincere, polite. Steve let her hand return to her side, and she turned to look at Bucky. “Thank you for the dance. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like another before I go.”

Bucky gave her a curt nod and pressed his lips softly to her temple.

“It was my pleasure, doll. I’ll come an’ find you, don’t you worry.” Her fingers slipped through his torturously slow, and he watching her make her way out of the crowd before turning back to Steve with a glare. Without a word, Bucky grabbed Steve by the arm and dragged him outside.

“What the hell was that about?!” Bucky demanded, his volume taking a sharp incline. Steve grabbed Bucky’s shoulders and looked him over with an unamused gaze.

“Really, Buck? You’ve got to be kidding me…” Bucky shoved Steve’s hands from his shoulders, intent on going back inside until Steve grabbed the collar of Bucky’s jacket. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that girl is? Buck, she’s supposed to _murder_ your best friend, and you’re out there gettin’ cozy with her?”

“Steve, you don’t understand, I know her.”

“Tell me the truth, Barnes. How do you know her?” Bucky’s tongue flicked over his lower lip and he inhaled sharply. This was going to be a long explanation, considering how much he remembered about her, how much he didn’t remember, and the picture. _Wait! The picture! That’s it!_

Bucky stuffed his hand into the pocket hidden in the lining of his jacket. _I knew I put it in there for a reason!_ When he withdrew, he held the picture out to Steve. Steve was uneasy in taking the photo, but once he did, his lips parted, leaving his mouth somewhat ajar in utter shock.

“Well, I’ll be damned… You sure that’s her?” Bucky nodded emphatically, but with a blank face.

“This changes everything."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

No sooner than you’d departed from James, you pulled your phone from your clutch. With shaky hands, you tapped out a simple text to Nico. Only two words were sent, and you knew he’d understand.

**CODE BLACK**

Your throat felt like it was on fire, and your chest heaved harder with every breath. It felt like someone was cinching down a vise around you, crushing your rib cage, leaving no room for your deprived lungs to expand. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you fought valiantly to keep them at bay. _This isn’t happening. I don’t cry._

The room started to tilt one way, then the other, and you could feel yourself sway slightly. You were determined to hold your ground, though, for as long as you could. The edges of your vision were fading fast. Your chest heaved harder as you tried to catch your breath, and your body told you one thing: _run_. When you tried to take a step forward, it refused to move. You couldn’t feel your legs anymore. This feeling, the panic welling up, you hadn’t felt it in years. Not since James disappeared.

Just when you were on the verge of collapse, an arm clasped itself around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry I had to interrupt, I- Hey, are you okay?” You closed your eyes briefly, recognizing the voice. _Rogers._ “You don’t look so good, ma’am. Let’s get you outside, huh?”

There were no words, though you opened your mouth to respond. Instead, you were forced to settle for a nod. He led you hastily to the nearest exit, then demanded that you sit down. For more reasons than one, you complied. Steve crouched down in front of you, placing his hands over yours.

“Just take a few deep breaths for me, okay?” One of the inevitable tears fell, and he quickly reached up to wipe it away. His fingertips were just as gentle as his demeanor. “Everything is gonna be alright. Just breathe. You’re doin’ great. Keep it up.”

You became aware of his thumbs rubbing the backs of your hands as your vision began to clear. It was soothing, calming. The tension in your chest began to ease, giving Rogers a tired smile.

“Thank you, Captain Rogers. You’re too kind, really.” He returned the gesture and took hold of your hands. His grip was firm, sturdy. The look on his face went from a kind grin to a stern stare, and he licked his lower lip thoughtfully.

“I know who you are,” he stated blankly. You raised an eyebrow and recited your alias, reminding that you introduced yourself earlier. He shook his head. His free hand held up a photograph, with your birth name printed across the top.

“I know who you really are, and so does Bucky.” You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip tightened. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to turn you in or tell anyone. I just want to ask you something.”

There was no way you were getting out of this. Not even crying ‘wolf’ could save you. He specified that he wanted to ask, but he never specified that you had to answer. Without answering, though, you could not sate your need for answers, so you decided to strike up a deal.

“I will answer one question of yours if you will answer one of mine.” All emotion vacated the conversation in that lone sentence. Rogers gave you a curt nod and gestured for you to go first.

“Where did you get that photograph?” you asked coldly. He sighed.

“From Buck. He said he’s been carryin’ it around since you gave it to him. My turn. Why are you under orders to kill me?”

“I’m not going to kill you because I was told to, Captain. I’m going to kill you because I want to. You took something from me that I can never get back.” With that, you withdrew your hand forcefully and stood up. His face was blank, but confusion was quickly etching itself across his features. You had no intention of answering any further, so you walked away. The phone in your clutch buzzed against your grip. You pulled it out to see a text back from Nico.

**I’m done. Let’s get out of here.**

You looked up, eyes searching pleadingly for the familiar dark haired man. But rather than catching sight of Nico, you caught the gaze of one Sergeant James Barnes, making his way to you through the crowd. Internally, you were panicking. Over the roar of the music, you could swear he was calling your name. _He shouldn’t even remember my name. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. Fuck._

The sudden appearance of a hand on your shoulder startled you.

“There you are…” The voice belonged to Nico himself, and before he could say anything else, you had a firm grip on his arm, leading him blindly through the crowd. It was a mere hope that you’d escape before James caught up to you. With his agility, he met the pair of you just at the edge of the horde.

“You promised me another dance,” he said softly, using his metal hand to stop you.

“I’m so sorry, sir, but I need to get home.” You bowed your head slightly.

“That’s fine, but I need to ask you something.” With a flick of your wrist, you dismissed Nico, telling him you’d be out in just a moment. He replied with a concerned nod, but proceeded towards the door.

“I really don’t have time for another dance. I’m sorry. Perhaps I’ll catch you at the next party?” James shook his head firmly, and his grip on your shoulder tightened.

“You’d never risk another exposure, darlin’,” he muttered in your ear, kissing your temple. “I just want to know if they found out. And don’t give me that look, you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”

You closed your parted lips and sighed through your nose. There were those god damn tears again, and weak was the only word you found necessary to describe that moment. Nothing could possibly quell the ache in your chest now, and you had to tell him the truth. No matter how badly it would hurt to say it, no matter the ways it would kill you inside to see the look on his face, he had a right to know.

“Our son, James… He’s… He’s dead.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I'm going to continue this one yet.  
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

For the first time in Bucky’s memory, he cried. There were no words that hit him harder. _Dead. He’s dead. Our son is dead._

He felt like he was going to vomit as his head reeled. How could this have happened? He knew he’d taken extra precautions to prevent HYDRA from finding out about the pregnancy. He’d been careful enough to ensure that they would not find her, nor could they harm her.

Following their confrontation, Steve had returned the photograph to Bucky. He didn’t really lose control of his emotions until he looked at that god damn ultrasound picture.

“My son, Steve! Oh god, my fucking son…” he wailed, striking the wall with blurred fists. Steve was doing his best to console Bucky, but his attempts were futile, as Bucky did not wish he be comforted. There was an endless list of thoughts berating him. _Why didn’t I stop them? Why didn’t I protect my family? Will she ever forgive me? Will I ever forgive myself?_ One final thought occurred to him. _What was his name?_

Bucky’s furious punches ceased, and he looked at Steve. Steve was looking at the floor, allowing his mind to roam. He, too, had a storm of questions brewing in his mind. What did she mean when she said he’d taken something from her? Is it wrong that, as soon as he saw the picture, as soon as he saw the look on her face, he wanted to hold her? By nature, Steve was a gentle and kind man. This woman wanted to kill him where he stood, and he still felt the need to comfort her, to make her feel better.

But why? Why on Earth would Steve have that kind of feeling? He knew damn well what she had done, the things she was capable of. And that’s when it started to sink in.

_Steve ran as fast as his legs could possibly carry him. His muscles pumped harder than ever before, propelling him towards his target. There was a young woman about half a mile ahead of him that had found herself in a precarious situation. The roof over her head was slowly crumbling, mere seconds from collapse. Steve thought he had plenty of time to get to her, but something told him to run faster. Upon second glance, he realized why. She appeared to be about eight months pregnant. If that building collapsed, it would kill not only her, but her unborn child as well. That was all the motivation Steve needed._

_He was thankful that he could get her out in time. Once her feet were safely on the sidewalk, she opened her mouth to thank him, but all that came out was an agonized scream. She dropped to her knees, and Steve knelt down beside her, placing his palm against her spine. A sudden jerk contorted her into a gnarled position in front of him._

_“Ma’am, what do you need me to do?” He was trying his best to remain calm, but that quickly dissipated into overwhelming terror as he watched the expanding puddle of blood pool between her knees. He reached up and pressed the ‘speak’ key on his ear piece, pleading with someone, anyone to help. Steve continually replayed the events in his head. He was sure he hadn’t grabbed her too hard at any point, but then again, he didn’t exactly know his own strength sometimes. The more he thought about it, the more he panicked._

_Her face was beginning to go pale, and she wasn’t holding herself up with any sort of stability anymore._

_“Don’t worry, ma’am. I’m gonna get you some help. You’re gonna be okay.” The best thing Steve could do at this point was try to stay strong for her. Natasha radioed back that Dr. Banner was nearby, and this wasn’t a ‘code green’ situation, so he may be able to help. Within seconds, Steve spotted Banner running down the center of the street, calling for him._

_“Save my son, Captain. Let me die if need be, but you save my son. Please…” One of her blood-soaked hands clutched at the collar of Steve’s uniform, and he had to take over supporting her weight to prevent her from fully collapsing._

_“I will do everything I can to save you both. I promise.”_

The more Steve considered it, the more the pieces began to fit. She was the one. It was her. The pregnant woman was her, and that child, the son they couldn’t save, had been Bucky’s son.

Steve had really begun to panic now, but managed to internalize it. Would Bucky ever forgive him for not being able to do enough?

Bucky’s chest was heaving, and he let out a pained scream of frustration. His fists slammed into the wall again. Flakes of drywall chipped and crumbled between the panels, sounding like far-off gunfire. The tremor caused by the force of Bucky’s hit made the window shudder in its frame, and for a moment, Steve thought it was about to shatter.

There was a soft knock at the door, and it opened just a crack to reveal Tony Stark. His head entered between the door and the frame, and Bucky thought, for a moment, about how nice it’d be to slam that door on his fucking neck. Unbeknownst to Tony, he ought to have been thankful at that moment that Bucky refrained.

“Take it easy on the walls, will ya? This is a glory-hole-free facility.” Tony’s typically snarky tone quickly changed upon seeing the look on Bucky’s face. “Anything I can get you fellas?”

Steve stood, putting a hand to Bucky’s chest. He looked like he was about to smash Tony’s face in.

“You have security footage of the party, right?” Steve asked calmly. Tony nodded. “I need to see it. We need to track this girl down.” He glanced at Bucky, whose face was softening a bit. He knew what Steve was up to, and there was a faint gratefulness burrowing in his abdomen. Tony gestured for Steve to follow him, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts.

_“Incoming, James. We’ve got less than two minutes to get out of here,” she called, running towards him. He nodded, slamming his boot down. The man’s skull cracked and crunched as Bucky twisted his foot, like he was stomping out another cigarette. She whirled around, both hands loaded with small caliber pistols. A rapid succession of shots was met by the sound of three, maybe four, bodies dropping to the tile. She was ruthless, brutal, like she was never plagued by her conscience after a kill. She was everything he could’ve hoped for in a partner. Not just in the field, but in life._

_She turned back to him, wiping a steady stream of blood from her nose. It continued to flow freely, but she paid it no mind._

_“You alright?” he asked, kissing her temple._

_“He caught me with a fucking cheap shot,” she snorted. “It’s all fun and games ‘til someone gets their throat cut.” He let out a heavy chuckle and slapped her ass before slinging an arm over her shoulders. This woman was absolutely depraved. Debauchery and sin at its finest, and he knew from day one that he’d fall heedlessly and hopelessly in love with her._

Bucky lashed out again, sending his balled fist through the drywall this time. Not only the first layer, but the second as well, leaving a gaping hole between his bedroom and the next, which happened to belong to Steve.

_I will find her. I have to. I won’t stop until I do. I need her._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

There was blood everywhere. It painted the walls like a work by Pollock, and you? Oh, you were the brush. You had never felt so many things at once. The best thing you could do in that situation was to break something. That something, unfortunately, happened to be a few HYDRA operatives.

_“And you’re certain about this?” You nodded. James carded a hand through his tangled tawny mop, pacing about the floor. “How could we be so fucking careless? Christ, we know better. You know as well as I do what will happen when they find out. We… Fuck!”_

_His clenched fists slammed into the wall, sending a shudder through the support beams. The heaves of his chest set to a devastating rhythm. You placed a hand against his spine, rubbing in small, slow circles. It took a few minutes for his breathing to return to normal, and once it did, he glanced over his shoulder, looking at you with apologetic eyes._

_“We’ll figure this out, James. We always do.” He turned to face you, wrapping his arms around you._

_“We’re gonna make this work, doll. I promise. I’m gonna do everything I can to keep us all together. Be a real family, you know?” James pressed his lips to your temple a few times, leaving a small patch of kisses. “I’m sorry I’m so flustered, y’know? Just worried. Don’t wanna lose you. If they find out, they’re gonna take you from me. Both of you. I can’t…”_

_You squeezed your arms around him, leaving a trail of gentle kisses down his scruffy jaw._

_“No one’s taking us anywhere, James. If they intended to split us up, they never would’ve kept you out of cryo.” He was quick to interrupt._

_“They kept me out of cryo because I have a job to do. As soon as I finish my mission, they’re gonna send me straight back. I’d like to find out my family is safe the next time they thaw me out, though.” You reached out and swatted his chest, putting on a stern face._

_“Don’t talk like that… They kept you out regardless. Too much longer, and they won’t be able to put you back. We just need to stall a little bit longer, okay?” He cast his eyes downward and sighed heavily, tightening his grip on you._

_“Я люблю тебя,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head as you pressed it against his chest._

_“I know, James. I know… I love you, too.”_

“Looks like you made quite the mess, sugar,” Brock chided from the doorway. You shot a glare over your shoulder and tugged the loose ends of the tape from your hands. His arms crossed defensively over his chest as you unwrapped your knuckles, not sure which blood belonged to you and which belonged to the agents.

He paused for a moment before gliding across the floor to you. Once by your side, he wrapped his arms around you, much like James used to, and kissed the top of your head.

“What’s the problem? You’re usually pretty tickled to see me.” Your arms fell limply to your sides and he grabbed your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length. “I asked you a question. The polite thing to do is answer.” Your brows lowered into a hostile furrow, and you exhaled hard.

“Barnes…” you finally muttered. “Barnes is the problem.”

“Still hung up on that fucking relic? I thought I was doing better than that…” Brock genuinely sounded hurt. You looked up at him, feeling the need to reassure. He, however, took the opportunity to wrap his gnarled, tapered fingers around your throat, backing you steadily into the wall. The spattered blood began to seep through the back of your shirt, making it cling to your back.

“I can’t have my top-notch assassin fawning over another man, can I? What kind of leader would that make me?” he remarked snidely, squeezing your airway until nothing could enter or exit. You clawed at his wrist, eyes pleading with him to put you down. His maddened grin only grew in your struggle. Your legs began to flail as he pulled your feet off the floor. Again, he pressed harder. In your peripheral vision, you could see parts of the flesh stretched over your cheekbones beginning to turn purple. He dropped you, landing a sharp kick in your gut with his boot on the way down. You had no control over the coughing and sputtering echoing front your throat, nor the ache in your abdomen.

Brock crouched down beside you, tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear.

“You know I hate hurting you, princess. Really, I do. But sometimes, you deserve it. I only do the things I do because I love you, understood?” You nodded, allowing your forehead to fall against the matted floor. His foot reared back, like he was about to strike again.

“Y-Yes, sir,” you spat out, stomach heaving. He lowered his foot back to the ground and extended a hand to you. You took it hesitantly, and Brock yanked you to your feet, ignoring the whimper of protest that you tried not to let out. He pulled you into his arms, letting them settle across your hips. A trail of soft, kind kisses were left from your temple to your lower jaw.

“If I’m not mistaken, you have a mission report, correct?” he murmured quietly into your hair. You affirmed verbally again. “Find Zapatero, and I’ll meet you two in Dr. Valen's office in ten. And babe?”

You looked up expectantly to find his dark eyes filled with something akin to regret.

“You do know that I love you, right?” You nodded, giving him a weak smile. The flesh on your throat burned, and your stomach was in knots.

“Yes, Brock. And I love you, too.” He grinned wider, giving you one final kiss on your forehead.

“Now go, my love. We need a debriefing.” Brock nudged you towards the door before grabbing his radio, demanding that someone come clean up the training room. There was a static crackle that turned to silence, followed by a ‘right away, sir’ response.

Once the steel door slammed shut behind you, you set out in search of Nico. Every step, every movement, ached. But the only thing that occupied your mind was _Steve_.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was going to slow down on this one, but I keep getting sudden ideas.  
> Bailey Sumner is modeled (physically) after Genevieve Angelson.  
>  
> 
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

Sam drummed his fingers against the table top, deep in conversation with Rhodey. Steve couldn’t quite make out what they were discussing, but it didn’t look too pleasant. There was a bundle of files spread across the table, each one stamped with a bright red ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ seal. On the raised tab of each were names, but only two that Steve could read clearly: Sumner, Bailey; and _her_ name, listed last, then first.

On the first file was an unfamiliar face. She had bright blue eyes, like the ice over a frozen pond. Her long, flaming hair framed a squared jaw and a narrow neck. Her full lips were pursed, drawing her flesh tight over her high, defined cheekbones. The lengthy lashes rimming her upper eyelid stretched up to mingle with her eyebrows, and she didn’t look much older than 17. There was another word scrawled in pencil across the bottom of her file. _Thor_.

There was no picture clipped to the second file, though. Not that Steve needed one; he already knew who it belonged to. That name had been burned into his brain the last couple days. Between Clint’s wisecracks, Natasha’s cryptic comments, and Bucky’s combination of shouts and sobs, Steve would be lucky to ever get her name out of his head. The more he mulled it over, the more sympathetic he felt for her. Everything she’d ever loved had been taken from her, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for the loss of her child.

_“Steve, she’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t know if we’re going to be able to save her,” Bruce muttered, lugging a small cooler over. Between the two of them, they’d managed to get her out of immediate danger. Bruce had raided the medical stock aboard the Quinjet, but it was ill-equipped for the event of childbirth._

_“We have to try… We have to. We have to. Please, Bruce.” Even his own pleading surprised him. Steve was always the first one to put on a brave face, but he couldn’t think about that right now. Surely someone somewhere was missing this girl. She couldn’t have been any more than nineteen._

_“I’ll do what I can, but the baby, Steve… It isn’t going to make it.” Steve’s eyes shot up. For a fleeting moment, the panic welling in his gut could not be quelled. He stared Bruce square in the eye. The muscles at the sides of his jaw clenched as he pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth._

_“He.” Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow. Steve shook his head in disbelief, more so with the situation than with himself._

_“Excuse me?”_

_“He, Bruce. She’s having a boy.” A look crossed Bruce’s face, mimicking everything Steve was feeling: guilt, anger, frustration, and an impossible sorrow. This woman was going to either wake up without her son or die. Steve swore he could hear his heart breaking for her._

_He reached forward, clasping her clammy hand in his._

_“Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be alright.” He wasn’t quite sure whether or not she could hear him, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try. Until the first tear landed on her shoulder, Steve didn’t even realize he was crying._

_“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, rubbing the back of her hand with the rough pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry, so so sorry. I’m so sorry…”_

Steve’s eyes swept the same corner of the other files, occasionally making out another scribbled name. _Natasha, Clint, Tony, Steve, Bu- Wait! Steve?_ Though it had long-since been decided that sating his curiosity often got him into a predicament, he couldn’t resist. He approached the table, sitting down across from Sam.

“But we have something they don’t,” Rhodey insisted, jabbing his finger at the stack. Sam looked to him with a curious expression. “They’ve only covered seven bases, and there are nine of us.”

Steve folded his hands together, resting his elbows on the oak platform. He glanced at Sam, who was staring at Rhodey with a smug grin. Not another word was exchanged between the two, but they shared a silent nod of understanding.

“What’s the situation?” Steve finally asked. Sam looked a bit surprised, like he hadn’t noticed Steve sitting down. He glanced at Rhodey, who gave a curt nod.

“There was a break-in at the Pentagon. The EXO-7 plans were taken, and Stark can’t seem to find his blueprint for Mark 43. We’re thinkin’ someone stole that, too, and I’m pretty sure we know who.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow. He didn’t really _need_ to ask, considering he already knew the answer. Maybe he just needed confirmation. Maybe he wanted to be wrong. Why, exactly, he wasn’t sure. Her name came off his lips in a half-sigh, and Rhodey’s eyes darted to him, unabashed.

“She’s part of Rumlow’s team, yeah. You know her?” Steve shook his head, but the uncomfortable tension in his jaw betrayed him. Sam narrowed his eyes, nudging Rhodey with his elbow.

“ _He don’t know her_ ,” he jested, putting his hands up defensively. “You’re not a good liar, man.”

“How do you know her, Cap?” Rhodey chuckled. Steve bit back an exasperated sigh and launched into the whole story; including the revelation he’d had the night before. By the time he was finished, the two men across from him sat there, slack jawed and wide eyed. There was a long silence while they processed the information. They just kind of stared at each other at first, and then Rhodey spoke.

“So… Wait, what?” The formerly latent sigh found its way out of Steve’s mouth, and he prepared to begin again, but Sam stopped him.

“Nah, man. We heard what you said… That’s just…” Sam mimed the action of his head exploding, and Steve chuckled.

“What are all those files for?” he asked, pointing across the table. Sam and Rhodey exchanged glances.

“Rumlow’s team. Natasha wasn’t kidding when she said they’ve got you all matched. They’ve got the smarts, the technology, even a kid from… Wherever Thor’s from,” Rhodey muttered, looking down. He carefully selected the file marked _Hoskings, Jack_ and slid it over. “I know you already know about this kid, but this is who’s going to be on your ass. Never mind the girl, Cap. This one is the one you need to watch out for.”

“Notice he said ‘ _got you all matched’_. We’ve got the advantage. Rhodey and I, they ain’t got _shit_ on us. Don’t even know we’re here,” Sam interjected, crossing his arms. There was an undeniable look of enthusiasm on his face. “They won’t even know what hit ‘em.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama, drama, drama...  
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

The cold water didn’t do much to wake you. Granted that you were used to it, an hour of sleep wouldn’t cut it. You stared at your reflection, running your fingers over the bruises on your neck. _Brock didn’t mean to. He loves me._ There was a clear outline of his hand around your throat, though it had begun to fade. But even after a week, it was still sore to the touch. Even internally, it still ached. Breathing wasn’t too bad, but swallowing made you cringe. You were so far gone in examining your throat; you didn’t realize you weren’t alone.

“We need to have a talk.” Your tunnel vision cleared to reveal Brock in the doorway. _Speak of the devil._ You stared back at him in the reflection, fingertips still trailing his mark. He approached slowly, deliberately. An involuntary shudder ran through you as his fingers grazed your bared spine. He tucked his chin, allowing his forehead to rest against the crook of your neck. A pair of hands made a home on your skin, one on your hip, one around the curve of your waist.

“You know I’m sorry, right?” he muttered, voice slightly muffled as he proceeded to press uncharacteristically gentle kisses against the bruised area. You hesitated for a moment, placing your palms against the scarred tissue on the back of his hands. Brock had set expectations that you would not rebuke him, nor disagree. Before giving you the opportunity to respond, he continued. “I can’t take it easy on you, princess. Can’t be showing favoritism, now, can we?”

At this, you nodded. His grip on your hip tightened for a second, merely to serve as a reminder to answer aloud. “No, sir. No favoritism.”

“Even though you already know you’re my favorite,” he growled, pulling you flush with his chest. The arm around you departed briefly, snagging your folded t-shirt hanging over the towel rack. He thrust it into your hands. “Put it on. You need to come see this.”

The strange warmth of his flesh departed yours as he stepped back, and you tugged the t-shirt on over your head before tying back your hair. He led you outside and merely pointed up. With a confused stare, you followed his finger towards the sky. There was something there. Something unusual, and it wasn’t until it came down that you realized what, or rather who, it was.

As soon as the boots hit the ground, you heard a familiar chuckle behind the face mask. It was Nico, decked out in some sort of partial mock-Iron Man suit. Mind you, it wasn’t a full suit, nor was it fully Iron Man. His lower arms were coated in thick panels of what appeared to be titanium. There were this leather straps holding a large metal box fast to his back, with something similar to a metal rod sticking out each side.

“Wha’cha think of my new rig?” Nico chuckled, popping up the face shield. He had a light sheen of sweat dusting his forehead. A prideful grin was plastered to his mouth. Your lower jaw fell slightly.

“Holy shit, Nic… This is amazing! Is this what you’ve been working on?”

“Sure fuckin’ is. The prints for both suits were easy to read and even easier to modify. Just wait until you see what else this bad boy can do,” he chided cockily. You moved around his backside to examine the pack, noting what you thought was a rod was, in fact, more like a branch, with sliding panels like wings. The design was easily distinguishable as the EXO-7 Falcon flight suit, designed and manufactured by the United States Air Force, but used only by one man: Sam Wilson. In the unit’s history, one two of these suits had ever been successfully produced. One had been destroyed in an attack, and the other, in possession of Wilson. Many men were killed trying to reproduce the success of the first pair, but to no one’s surprise, Nico had managed to do so in less than six days.

“This is amazing,” you remarked breathlessly, skimming your fingers across the plates. Nico’s beam broadened.

“Isn’t it?” he crowed back. Brock chuckled beside you, patting Nico on the shoulder.

“Well done, Zapatero. Very well done. How’s the defense system on her?” Nico grinned over his shoulder, signaling with a thumbs up.

“She’s a killer, sir. The repulsors on her are stronger than Stark’s, and I’ve got more flight propulsion than anything the government can manufacture.”

“Plus he looks a hell of a lot better than Stark,” Jack snipped snidely, with his arms folded across his chest. Nico put a hand over his heart, feigning poignancy.

“That’s so sweet, buddy, so touching,” he quipped, snickering after. The four of you stood together, all grinning, half laughing. Even Brock, who probably wouldn’t even give his own mother a sincere smile. He tucked his arm around your shoulder, tugging you closer.

“Excuse us, gentlemen. This little lady and I have some war plans to discuss.” Nico and Jack saluted him with two fingers, the traditional sign-off, and turned to discuss the suit more. Brock led you back inside and into the elevator, before escorting you to his office. He gently demanded that you take a seat, and he sat across from you, folding his hands together. You crossed your legs demurely, awaiting further instruction or questioning.

“With the suit finished, we’re ready,” he sighed, pushing a manila folder to you. The bright red stamp of ‘CLASSIFIED’ on the front gave you a pretty good idea where this conversation was headed. Brock gestured to the file, as if to tell you to open it. You fingered the edge of the file for a moment before flipping the cover. Inside were pages upon pages of names, dates, schedules, and surveillance photographs.

“Everything needed for a large-scale assassination, sir,” you stated, looking over at him. He nodded with a chuckle. A hesitant knock at the door startled you slightly, though you showed no response. Brock called for the interrupter to enter, and Gabriel poked his head in, one gloved hand gripping the edge of the door.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” he said softly. His eyes darted to you for a moment. You gave him a kind smile, and he looked back to Brock. Brock nodded, pointing to the chair beside you.

“Sit, Petran. I need you in on this.” Gabe took the empty chair after putting a hand on your shoulder. Brock’s gaze narrowed to a glare for a moment before his entire face fell blank, void of any emotion.

“I’ll make this quick. You two are aware of HYDRA’s mantra, correct?” Your eyes flickered to Gabriel, then to your lap, before landing again on Brock.

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place,” you answered coldly. Brock nodded.

“Exactly, and now, the time has come to rear those heads. My replacements are you, my Generals.” You pulled a face, the top left side of your lip sliding back.

“Generals? To serve what purpose, sir?” Gabriel asked, clearly just as confused as you were.

“Generals in the war, Petran. We’re going to start a war. World War III, to be exact, and the end of the Avengers will be just the beginning.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly filler, but I love writing drunk Clint.  
> Feedback appreciated. You know the drill.
> 
> <3

“So, they’ve stolen the Mark 43 plans _and_ the EXO-7 plans?” Rhodey sighed with weary eyes. Tony nodded.

“There goes our element of surprise,” Sam grumbled. Clint scoffed, his head repeating the same back and forth pattern.

“It’s not ‘surprise’ that we need,” he fired back, palming his glass. “We’ve got the numbers. Call a “code green”-” he mimed air quotes. “- and we’ve got more than just numbers. We’ve got the strength, the technology, the battle smarts. They won’t be able to defeat us all.”

For once, Tony looked impressed.

“Finally, you say something smart!” he chuckled, looking at Sam and Rhodey. Rhodey seemed to agree, but Sam refused.

“But we don’t know what they’re equipped with. Y’all forget, I’ve fought Rumlow. He fights dirty and he takes every cheap shot he can get. If they got our blueprints, you can bet your ass they got someone who can make all kinds of improvements we haven’t thought of yet.”

“Yeah, well, they also forget that time I carried a nuke into a wormhole,” Tony chided, thumbing his nose. Rhodey and Clint let out simultaneous groans paired with matching eye rolls.

“One time!” Rhodey hollered. “One time, and you’ll never _let_ us forget!” Sam snickered, but it quickly subsided when Rhodey spoke again.

“Everyone keeps saying these guys are like us. How does that work? Do they have a Hulk? Or a Thor?” Tony looked down, but nodded firmly.

“Something like that,” he sighed. “They have this Romanian kid that was exposed to the radiation from Chernobyl. Anything he touches with his bare hands drops dead. I’ve seen him take out crowds before, which takes care of our little green friend. The pair of twins they took in? Both dosed with a less-than-stellar version of ol’ Cap’s juice. Popsicle pals are covered. Got a girl that rivals Romanoff is the beauty department, but she’s a spiteful bitch with a crossbow. Clint, you’ve got your work cut out.” Clint snorted, rolling his eyes again. Tony was about to resume his speech, but Clint butted in.

“Got themselves a little tech wizard too. Kid’s got more in his head than all of us combined. If he’s got those prints, you’re fucked.” Sam reached out and punched Clint’s shoulder, telling him to shut up. Clint rubbed at his arm, grumbling about how they know he’s right. “Anyhow, before I was so rudely interrupted, I- Where was I? Oh, right! We've all been given the gift of an arch-nemesis! Isn't that fucking awesome? They even have this little pistol. She’s like a mini-Nat. Scary as all hell, though.”

“Yeah, didn’t she make you cry once?” Tony spit, taking his topic back from Clint. Clint furrowed his brow, muttering a slew of irritated curses. “They don’t have a demi-God, though.”

Sam held up a finger. Tony and Rhodey both looked at him expectantly.

“They do, though, Stark. Thor said she comes from a family of fire giants, whatever the motherfuckin’ fuck that is.” Rhodey’s eyes widened as he glanced back to Tony.

“Fire giants? Pretty nasty stuff,” Natasha quipped from the corner. Two of the men jumped, one smirked, and Clint, well, he screamed a little.

“Jesus Christ, Romanoff! How many times do I gotta tell you?” Sam hooted, clutching his chest. “Girl gonna give me heart attack if she don’t knock off that sneaky shit!” From the size of dinner plates, Clint squeezed his eyes shut, then cracked them back open.

Natasha took the last available chair beside Clint and cracked open a beer, taking a long swig.

“How do you know anything about fire giants?” Rhodey asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“Thor told me about them.”

“Ooooooh,” Clint crooned. “And you’re suddenly such besties with Thor! Is it something I did? Something I said? Oh, Natasha,” he moaned, dragging out the _shhh_. “Why don’t you love me anymore?”

“Clint, you’re drunk,” she groaned. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?” Clint waved his hand dismissively a few inches from her nose and she grabbed his middle finger, bending it backwards. “What did I tell you about putting things in my face?”

“You told me to not to,” he whined, trying to manipulate his hand to compensate for the new-found pressure. Nat refused to allow it.

“And what happens if you do it again?” Clint tried to push his palm down to straighten out his finger, wiggling ferociously against Natasha’s hold.

“You’ll break it.” Natasha nodded and let go, shoving his hand away. The rest of the group burst out in riotous laughter. Clint, however, just looked at his finger.

On the other side of the door stood Steve. He wasn’t eavesdropping intentionally. Well, not at first, but as the conversation furthered in his absence, he felt the need to be as well-informed as possible.

“Steve?” Bucky grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “The hell you doin’, Stevie?” Steve held a finger to his lips, eyes pleading with Bucky to be quiet.

“Just listenin’, Buck. Go back to sleep.” Bucky shook his head, stopped just shy of where Steve stood.

“We goin’ to war again?” he asked in a hushed tone. Steve looked down, but nodded slowly.

“I think so, bud.”

“Just promise me something, Stevie,” Bucky muttered.

“Yeah?”

“Promise me that no matter how bad things get, you won’t hurt her. I don’t care what anyone else says, I need her to be safe. I need her safe with me.” Steve let out a sigh. He didn’t _want_ to hurt her. But if his team was in danger, he would do anything necessary to keep them safe. Of course, he couldn’t tell Bucky that. His request left Steve torn. _Do I risk my team’s lives, or do I risk losing my best friend again? Bucky will never forgive me if she dies._ He gave it a moment of serious thought before something else occurred to him.

“ _I_ won’t hurt her, Buck. You have my word. But when we get out there, you and I are gonna have our hands full tryin’ to take down those twins. In combat, she is Natasha’s responsibility.” Bucky let out a low growl of frustration. He turned quickly, advancing towards the lab.

“Buck, wait! Where are you going?” Steve called, ready to follow. Bucky’s feet stuttered, bringing him to a halt. With a narrowed gaze and a venomous tongue, he glanced over his shoulder.

“To talk to Natasha.”


	16. A/N

I'm genuinely sorry if anyone got super excited about seeing that I updated when, in fact, it's only an author's note.

That being said, I feel the need to forewarn you all that this next chapter is pretty gruesome. It's sitting at just over 3,000 words, and it is not pleasant. There are quite a few character deaths on both sides of the schism, and explicit content in regards to said deaths. If you'd like to forego the battle scene and just want the summary, **_please_** let me know, and I'll gladly provide one!

Otherwise: the chapter has been posted. Forgive me.

Good luck, and please don't kill me.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. I am so sorry. I just... Oh god. I'm so so sorry.  
> Graphic content ahead. If you'd like a summary, please let me know!  
> Nico's quote is from Life Cycles by The Word Alive.  
> You know the drill. Feedback and such.  
> <3

Your fists were clenched tight as Rogers approached across the barren field. After your insistence, with the entire team backing you, Brock had agreed that this battle would not take place near the city, not where civilians could easily be injured or killed. As much as you didn’t particularly care for those outside your organization, you knew that the Avengers would never fight the way they were meant to whilst trying to save other people.

Behind Rogers, James was on his heels. You were really hoping he wouldn’t be brought into this. It was not his fight. But you knew better than to think he wouldn’t get involved. James was always stubborn, always doing the noble thing by you, whether he was in the wrong or not.

You and Gabriel met James and Rogers mid-field, both sides sizing up their respective opponents. Your own stare drifted from James to Agent Romanoff, watching her with great anticipation. Finally, you were about to have to opportunity to crush her, something you’d waited many years to do.

“We don’t _have_ to do this,” Steve sighed, looking back at him team mates. James had his arms crossed firmly over his chest, eyeing both of you cautiously. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then leaned forward, whispering something in Steve’s ear. Steve nodded, not breaking the newfound eye contact with you.

“You can walk away from this. All of you. We can help you,” he insisted.

“We don’t _want_ your help, Rogers,” you spat back, keeping your gaze trained on him. James shifted behind Steve, then spoke calmly.

“Come with me.” His voice was soft, kind. “Come with me, and we can disappear together. You an’ me, doll. We can walk away from this whole thing. We can start over, have a family, we-” You shook your head vigorously.

“No, James, we can’t. Not yet. When they’re dead, we can start over. Not until then. You may be able to walk away from this, but I’ve got a score to settle.” The look he gave you was like you’d just slapped him. He looked wounded, hurt. And as much as that look pained you to see, you could not- would not- relent.

Gabe leaned forward, like he was ready to beat that look off James’ face, but you held your arm out in front of him, signaling him to stop. From somewhere behind you, a gun shot rang out, clean and clear, and the riot began.

Bristol had taken a low position in the grass, aiming her crossbow through the mess. Agent Barton had taken a similar stance, crouching low to the ground. Both were scarcely visible, but everyone was well aware. They’d been trained to be invisible, and with no high-up vantage points, they had to resort to dirt work. You heard the familiar clang of metal on metal from Bristol’s bow and watched as Dr. Banner went down. _Must’ve clipped his Achilles_. A smile of satisfaction arose, knowing this blood bath was just beginning.

When Dr. Banner rose up from the ground, he was no longer Bruce, the mild-mannered scientist, but rather the Hulk himself. His muscles pulsed and strained under the weight of his constricting skin. It tinged green and his features began to morph. Gabriel peeled his gloves off delicately, tossing them aside.

“See you on the other side, prințesă!” he chirped, taking off towards Banner. You smiled snidely, arms crossed over your chest. Rogers and James stood still, briefly hesitant. Whether they were stunned or had calculated such a move was a mystery to you. You were enjoying the moment.

As their gaze left yours, you felt a new presence flanking you. A calloused chortle left your throat, and before you could blink, both soldiers were on the ground. Jack and Heidi were flying back and forth between the two, landing countless punches and well-placed strikes with the toes of their boots. James, as you knew all-too-well, would never take this sort of thing (no pun intended) lying down. He was quick to fight back, aiming a solid punch to Heidi’s jaw. She stumbled, spitting out a pair of teeth and a mouthful of blood.

“For a so-called ‘super soldier’, you hit like a bitch,” she giggled, driving the heel of her boot into his nose. Rogers had taken the distraction as an opportunity to drag Jack beneath him, channeling every ounce of anger in his body into his fist. The throws were repetitive, with little to no remorse.

You were knocked to the ground by a sudden force, though you’d honestly expected it. Just outside the confines of the battling soldiers, you’d seen Agent Romanoff make a move. She was coming at you with everything she had, and you desperately wanted her to try to take you down.

When her weight collided with yours, she knocked you away from Rogers and James, Heidi and Jack. Once she got you on your back, her clenched fist came down towards your face. You reeled your hips up, jarring her balance. She slid far enough forward for her knees to come to rest outside your shoulders. This gave you just enough leverage to hook one ankle around the front of her neck. With another swift movement, you jammed your knee into her back.

Romanoff untucked her foot from beneath her, driving it into the side of your head. It took you a second to regroup, and by the time you did, she was on her feet.

“Get up,” she hissed, unclenching her fists. She looked like she was about to reach for her Glock. Before she had time to react, you yanked a baton from its thigh holster. Your thumb found the button easily enough, turning on the electric charges. Striking out, you caught her in the ribs with a sickening crunch. While she was doubled over, you found your footing, grabbing the other baton.

You stood before her, palms gripping your weapons. They were lowered to your sides, awaiting her next move. She straightened her back out and cracked her neck, tilting it from side to side. The bands around her wrists began to glow. _Widow’s Bite, nice choice_. You gave her a sympathetic smile.

She swung, making contact with your lower jaw. There was a slight stagger in your step as you re-centered yourself. She shot back a twisted grin, striking out again. About that time, you lashed out with your baton, connecting with her wrist. The same crunch of bone sounded again, and your foot came up. The toe of your boot hooked under her chin, effectively forcing her head back.

The pressure of her back hitting the dirt created a small cloud of dust. She reached for her gun, putting two well-placed rounds into the abdomen of your uniform.

“You really think I’d be stupid enough to come into this without Kevlar? Not as smart as you look, Natalia,” you glowered, glaring down at her. She simply smiled again and used the top of her foot to pull one leg out from beneath you. You landed with a thud as she scrambled to get back her upper hand.

A pained scream made the two of you pause. It sounded familiar, though you weren’t sure which side it had come from. You glanced over her shoulder to see Agent Barton. He was teetering on his feet, unable to continue standing. Arrows pierced his body, running the length of his entire torso. Blood spilled from each puncture wound. The pink fletching was the tell-tale sign that Bristol had done her job a bit more than thoroughly.

There was a foreign look of terror on Romanoff’s face. Her hesitance was all you needed. You cupped your hands and slapped them down over her ears. A rush of air hit your palms, followed by a rather nasty popping noise. She reached up; clutching her ears like it’d relieve the pain. You would’ve used the moment to gloat, but she’d never hear you, not with blown ear drums. She went back down for the umpteenth time, again on her knees. You glanced back, signaling Heidi to switch with you. Only she had the strength to crush this bitch.

While not only disoriented but distraught, Romanoff didn’t move. That left Heidi a window to move over, leaving you to take on Rogers.

Heidi, with no reservations, leaned in with ease. Her fingers worked deftly to pry her opponent’s mouth open. She braced herself, took a deep breath, and pulled. The entire field went quiet, aside from the sound of tearing flesh and bones cracking. Blood and tissue spewed everywhere, chunks flying. Romanoff’s mouth had been ripped apart, leaving a relatively flat plain. Heidi just started laughing.

The laughter continued until it was interrupted by a thunderous roar. The Hulk scrambled through the grass, his feet pounding craters in the dirt. It didn’t take but a few steps for him to reach Romanoff’s lifeless body, blood still spurting from the area of her throat. The severed carotid artery no longer pulsed with her heart beat, but rather expelled the excess pooled within.

With one large hand, he grabbed Heidi, effectively silencing her manic laughter. He threw her down against his knee with such force, her entire rib cage collapsed. She slumped to the ground with a strained cry of agony. Her back quaked like Jell-O at every attempted movement. The act had dislodged many of her internal organs, as proved by the red, viscous liquid drizzling from her lips. The giant green beast had a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

His chest heaved for a moment as he let out another snarl. The sated look melted from his features and the rapid expand/contract pattern ceased. His eyes came to rest on the surviving members of his team, and for a second, it seemed like he’d said he was sorry. He went down heavy and hard. Behind his falling form stood Gabriel, with his arm extended, palm facing towards you. It was like he’d drained the satisfaction from Dr. Banner, taking it for his own.

The once massive man began to shrink down to his natural size with void eyes and a slack jaw. You almost felt the tiniest bit of sympathy for him… _Almost_.

“Are we quite done with this circus?” Gabe asked, apparently bored. “You cannot win. Our training is far superior to yours, and-”

“Gabriel, destul!” you snarled.

“Acest lucru nu va fi suficient. Au ucis pe fiul tău!” he yelled back, taking a stance to launch into another attack. He was looking directly at James, who had Jack pinned to the ground by this throat. You side-stepped, blocking his path.

“Nici să nu te gândești la asta.” He began to lower his hand, but a brutal sound of metal colliding stopped that. Three bodies were tumbling out of the sky, all mangled. The plates of their suits were all tangled together, leaving you unsure of where one ended and another began. Nerves struck you as you recognized one as being Nico. One of his makeshift wings was jammed through the panels of Wilson’s flight rig, rendering it useless. The other wing was caked in blood, letting down drops like rain. It was jammed through the face shield of the War Machine suit, worn by James Rhodes.

The only metal contraption left standing was Iron Man himself. He was working his way down, supporting the descending mass. Once they touched down a good few yards away, you were running. You felt trapped, blind. Bristol’s voice came from behind you, but you couldn’t make out what she was saying. All that mattered was that your best friend, your brother, was okay.

When you dropped by his side, you realized it was quite the opposite. His face was battered, bruised, and beaten beyond recognition. His left ear was missing, extensive burns taking its place. It looked like he’d been hit by one of Stark’s repulsors. Blood spilled from his lips as he coughed and wheezed. Bristol joined you at his side, and the pair of you, as well as Stark, began to rip the pieces of metal apart.

“Nico! Nic, come on, buddy. Stay with me,” you said flatly, trying to stay calm. With the amount of blood on him, you knew he’d never survive, but you had to try. Every noise seemed to disappear, save for Nico’s ragged breathing. His eyes fluttered shut, but he opened them again, looking up at you.

“You know,” he started before letting out another riotous cough. The blood from his mouth spattered back on your face, but it didn’t faze you. “I never thought I’d g-go like this. But I’d r-rather die for what I believe in-” another cough. “Than li-live a life without… A meaning.”

“Keep your fucking eyes open, Nic. Don’t you fucking give up on me,” you choked out, voice faltering. He shot you a weak smile and another chuckle.

“Not… Not givin’ up, just… Givin’ in.” His voice trailed off, and his eyes glazed over. The emptiness behind them made you choke back the tears. Nico’s lips parted, but no breath passed. At that moment, the real struggle began. The struggle between anger and feeling homicidal. They would not get away with this. You’d go to the ends of the earth and back to make them suffer for this.

You reared back, driving the top of your head into the gut of Stark’s suit. It did no good, other than knocking him off kilter. You landed on top of him, repeatedly punching his mask. Nothing came out, other than a stream of insults and profanity. You swore incessantly that you would kill him; you’d kill all of them. They would suffer mercilessly until _you_ got tired of listening to their screams.

Bristol had to pull you off of him, but he retaliated fast. He was on his feet, wrapping one hand in your hair. His free hand wrangled your wrist behind your back, forcing it as far up your spine as it’d go without causing damage. He was clearly trying hard to restrain himself.

“Get your filthy fuckin’ hands offa her, Stark.” It was James. Stark kept his hand twisted in your hair, yanking your head back harder. He chuckled and wrenched your wrist up between your shoulder blades.

“You don’t get to make this call, Freezer Burn. She can’t leave here alive just because _you_ are a love-struck puppy dog. She’s a safety hazard.” James was just about to move towards the pair of you when another sudden crack sounded, and Thor dropped to the ground. Jack darted behind James and drove his foot into the back of James’ knees, forcing him to kneel in the dirt. Pulled straight back behind him, James’ arms were held fast by Jack, who then repositioned his foot just at the base of James’ neck.

“She comes with us,” he stated firmly, pulling James’ arms back until his shoulders strained in their sockets. “She comes with us, or I’ll knock his head clean off his shoulders.”

Despite all your training to the contrary, that made you cringe outwardly. Even with minimal force, Jack would be able to pop his head off like a fucking dandelion. The image of James’ head rolling to a stop at your feet, with vacant eyes and a gaping mouth, a trail of blood leading from its origin, seared itself into your brain. You began to struggle against Stark’s hold, but he twisted your arm harder, holding you in place.

“Make a trade,” Rogers demanded blankly. “You let Sergeant Barnes go, you can have her.”

Jack nodded. Stark exchanged a brief glance with Rogers before shoving you forward. Dropping inches from your former partner, your knees hit the dirt with a thud, throwing up a cloud of dust. He coughed and wheezed a bit. You looked up at Jack, giving him an almost undetectable nod. Jack let go, allowing James to throw his arms forward. They wrapped around you with a passion you hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime.

“You’re so stupid,” he muttered, stamping kisses to your forehead. “You’re so fuckin’ stupid, and I love you so much. Don’t you ever fuckin’ do that again. Ever. Please. Please, babydoll. Don’t.” The words poured from his mouth like a waterfall. You were certain that he’d played through every possible scenario, this being the best case.

There was a half-hearted attempt on your part to pull away from him, but he refused to allow it.

“You coulda got yourself killed, you stupid, stupid girl,” he wailed, tightening his grip. “I swear t’ God, if you ever fuckin’ do that again, I’ll kill you myself.”

You shook your head and began to struggle against him. You begged for him to let you go, to get off you. Initially, he refused, but with some prodding from Rogers, he complied.

“Bury your dead, tend to your wounded, and we shall do the same,” Bailey said softly, resting a hand over the gaping wound in Thor’s shoulder. “Shall we meet again, and I am certain that we will, then this will finally end.” A pair of sparks fluttered from her fingertips, meeting the torn flesh. Thor let out a deep hiss, and the bleeding halted. Make no mistake, he was still caked in it, but Bailey’s gesture had cauterized the vessel. She would not let him die today. For some reason, the two of them had been conspicuously absent from view for most of the fight, but from the looks of it, they both took a major ass-whooping.

Thor gave her a mild nod a respect, and she returned to your side, helping Jack support your weight. Gabriel was just a few steps ahead of you, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure you three were all still standing. He reached out with a newly-gloved hand and grabbed the ragged, bloody collar of Heidi’s uniform. With a grunt, he heaved her limp corpse over his shoulder, leading the remainder of your team back to the HYDRA jet.

“This isn’t fucking over,” you spat.

Once boarded, Gabe stopped Bailey.

“You should’ve let him bleed,” he growled. She looked somewhat fearful, like he was about to pull a Rumlow on her.

“I do not wish for all this death and destruction, Gabriel. It is not in my nature to be so violent. I will do what I must to protect my kin, but I cannot sit idly by and allow a good man to die.” Gabe opened his mouth to fire back, but you cut him off.

“Cut her some slack, Petran. She’s not used to this. She’s not like us... She’s just a kid. Sixteen years old, and she doesn’t have the experience we do. She hasn’t seen the horrible things they’ve done. Just… Give her a break, man.” He took a deep breath and let out a huff.

“Rumlow’s going to be furious,” he muttered, shaking his head. “We are so fucked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100% good with this one, so I may rewrite pieces of it later.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of potential future readers, I'm going to leave my author's note posted. Because of that, my chapters are slightly off. Technically, this chapter should've been about the Avengers, but I decided to do another one in second person to get my chapters back on track.  
> There is somewhat graphic content at the end of this chapter as well, so consider yourself warned.  
> Also, I've been busting ass on a Snowpiercer fic. Would any of you read it if I posted it?
> 
> Feedback appreciated, as always.  
> <3

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Brock roared, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ve spent months - no, years! - training you guys for this and you fuck it up?”

“Sir, I-”

“Shut it, Petran! I don’t want to hear a single god damn word outta your fucking mouth.” He was seething. “How could you let them get away? You’re orders were to kill _all_ of them, not just _some_ of them. Did you not think of the consequences? Do you realize just how fucked we are?”

“Brock,” you cautioned, placing a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped back, training his gaze on you. That was when you realized you’d just made a huge mistake. Brock’s arm reeled forward, then launched back. The top side of his hand connected with your bloodied and bruised jaw, sending you staggering back a few steps.

“Do _not_ fucking touch me, you little bitch. The only reason you’re still alive is because I need you to finish the fucking job.” You clutched your cheek, forcing back the welling tears. Gabriel’s jaw hung slightly agape, and he took about half a step forward before Brock stopped him. With a scarred, bent finger, Brock pointed directly at Gabriel like it was a threat. The gesture was, in true Rumlow fashion, followed by a verbal warning.

“You touch her, and I’ll put a bullet in your skull.” His tone was cold, bitter. Gabe shot you a sympathetic look, followed by ‘yes, sir’. When Brock turned to you, you took a step back, but prepared yourself for the worst.

“Get out, Petran. I need a word with her.” Gabriel bowed his head, repeated his former response, and vacated the room, leaving you alone with _him_. His gaze never left your face, still just as stern and hostile as when you entered his office. He palmed a pad of paper absent-mindedly. It was long list of names, all scribbled in blocks of different handwriting.

Finally, his expression softened.

“I was so fucking worried about you, babe,” he muttered, gathering you in his arms. As tempting as it was to pull away from him, you decided against it, for that would just make him angry again. You rested your forehead against his shoulder as he buried kind kisses in your hair. “I’m sorry I got so angry. I just… I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“It’s okay, Brock, really. You trained me well.” He pulled back, holding you at arm’s length.

“What happened? You’re pretty banged up, kid.” You shrugged, looking up at him. His face was grave, coated in the utmost concern.

“Romanoff put up a hell of a fight,” you snorted, finally earning a smile. “Stark knocked me around a little, too.” Brock pressed his lips to the dark purple splotch over the hinge of your jaw before running the pad of his thumb beneath your eyes, wiping away a smear of eyeliner.

“Did they have the Asset?” You nodded. A slew of curses left his lips, and he tore himself away from you.

“Did he hurt you?” This time, you shook your head. “Good. I didn’t expect he would. He knows you’re a good girl. So, he won’t expect you to break his fucking neck next time. Do that for me, would you? I don’t want the poor bastard to suffer, but he has to be eliminated.”

That struck a bit of fear into you. No way could you possibly kill James. Despite the front that you put on in the field, you still loved him with every fiber of your being. _No. I don’t love him anymore. He is not mine. He is a traitor. I’m in love with Brock, and he loves me._

“We do need to have a bit of a team meeting, though, sweetheart. Round ‘em up for me, will ya? Take them down to TR-4. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Yes, sir.” He waved his hand dismissively, winking at you. You slipped out the door with a softening smile. You withdrew your phone from your pocket, electing to text everyone instead. As a blank composition opened, you tapped out your message and selected the proper contacts. For a brief second, you hovered over Nico’s name. The pause is more than enough. Something inside you breaks. Whether it was your heart or the dam you built to hold back tears, it crumbled. Your vision blurred, but you proceeded to send the text.

**To: Jack Hoskings, Bristol Collins, Bailey Sumner, Gabriel Petran**

**Meeting with Rumlow in five minutes. Go to TR-4.**

Within two minutes, you’d received four replies, all variations of acknowledgment. You finally headed down as well, figuring you shouldn’t be the last to arrive. Furiously, your hands wiped at the wetness that made trails down your cheeks. With a deep nasal inhale, you cleared anything that may have run.

Training Room 4, or TR-4, wasn’t the most spacious of rooms. Why Brock had chosen it was completely beyond you. Five folding chairs were lined up in the center of the room, and four of them were already occupied. The only open seat was on the far right end beside Bristol.

She was staring at you, her face streaked worse than yours. Her bruising was minimal, though she was flecked with blood that didn’t belong to her. None of you had really been given time to clean up. The whole lot of you were pretty fucked up. Bruised, bloodied, a few broken bones, and in Jack’s case, a nice bullet hole, you certainly looked like a team. Everyone was still suited up.

No one spoke a single word. When you sat down, Bristol laced her fingers between yours and gave your hand a loving squeeze. You gave her a weak smile, but stared at the floor. From the corner of your eye, you saw Brock stroll in casually, hand on his holster. He didn’t say a word as he walked behind the row of chairs. His bootfalls were in a steady rhythm. He cleared his throat and sighed loudly.

You knew that sound all too well. Despite his kind words to you in his office, he was still positively furious with the combat results. Brock got unpredictable when he was angry. He made rash decisions, and it often ended in someone getting hurt. More often than not, he took it out on you, but for some reason, he gathered all of you. Bristol must have sensed your nerves, so she squeezed your hand once more.

“Let this be a lesson,” Brock said quietly. His voice was flat, humorless. There was a hushed click, the sound of Brock pulling back the hammer of his revolver. Before you could interject or even process, he fired.

Your body jerked involuntarily. Fresh blood spattered across your face, leaving warm, dripping trails. With wide eyes, you stared straight ahead, afraid to look back. Bristol’s head lolled over, dropping on your shoulder. Between the hole in her forehead and her gaping mouth, more viscous fluid dribbled down from the shoulder of your uniform.

“Should you fail again, you’ll all be dealt with accordingly. Even you, Petran.” Brock tossed his revolver in your lap and ran a hand through your hair. “We’ll regroup tomorrow, and you will _not_ fuck this up again. Do I make myself clear?” There was a hushed chorus of ‘yes, sir’ from your new quartet.

“Clean that up for me, doll. I hate it when my slide sticks,” he muttered in your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut, hearing a last wheeze from Bristol’s lungs. The air escaping her body forced more blood out, allowing it to speckle the side of your neck.

Brock made a leisurely exit, leaving you with Jack and Gabriel. Jack was the first in action, leaping up to heave the weight of Bristol’s body off of you. Gabe stepped around and grabbed the sides of your neck gently, directing your spinning gaze to his eyes.

“Are you okay? Did it catch you on the exit? Hey, are you still with me?” His words began to run together, sounding slurred. His tone changed, and he began repeatedly calling your name as white spots danced in your eyes. He sounded so far away. So so far…

Without warning, you jolted forward. Your knees hit the padded floor, and you began to heave. A wave of nausea hit you like a sack of bricks, followed by bile in the back of your throat. The contents of your stomach, mostly water, spewed from your mouth.

After a good three or four heaves, you wiped your lips with the back of your sleeve. Blood from Bristol’s head smeared across your face, joining the streaks already there. You pressed back to sit down, drawing your knees to your chest. Your hands covered your face, and you just started screaming until no more sound would come out. If there was anything left of either your heart or that wall, it was destroyed. Tears poured uncontrollably.

Jack laid Bristol on the floor, checking for any signs of life. Bailey didn't budge. Gabe crouched beside you and pulled you into his chest. One of his gloved hands stroked your hair while the other rubbed circles on your back. His words started to become clear again.

“Ssshhhh… I am right here. You are safe.” While there was something comforting about his words, one thing was certain. You were anything _but_ safe as long as Brock Rumlow’s heart was still beating.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but I should be able to get another chapter done tomorrow. A much longer one. : )
> 
> Feedback appreciated.  
> <3

“Shoulda let me kill the little bitch,” Tony muttered, downing the rest of his drink. A drop missed his lips, landing on the front of his jacket. He groaned inwardly, stood, and shrugged it off. Tossing it over the back of the couch, he made his way back to the bar to refill his glass. He just wanted to be numb, to not feel anything anymore. He’d been perpetually drunk for the last three days, since the collective funeral he had organized.

Steve looked at Bucky. His jaw was tense, his brows knit together, shadowing his eyes. For Steve’s sake, Bucky held his tongue. Riling up Stark would just cause more trouble, and _really_ , they didn’t need that. He was already wound up to begin with, but Bucky and his big mouth would just make things worse.

There was a moment when Steve really thought Buck would speak up. His lips parted, and he swallowed thickly, but then, he closed his mouth again. Internally, there was a sigh of relief.

Bucky’s brain was buzzing with retorts and insults, mostly threats. _Touch her, and you’ll be dead before you hit the ground. Hurt her, and I’ll break every bone in your body. Even so much as look at her wrong, and I’ll strangle you with your own fucking intestines. Your move, Stark. Choose wisely._ It wouldn’t be the first time Bucky killed someone for her, certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“How’s Sam holding up?” Steve asked, standing up. “Didn’t get a chance to visit him today.” Tony shrugged, crossing back to the couch.

“Still in a coma. Doc said it’ll be a miracle if he wakes up with all the head trauma.” He gave Bucky a pointed look, narrowing his eyes. “Next time, you stay out of my way.”

 _God damn it, Stark_. Bucky was instantly on his feet, ready to tackle Tony. Steve’s forearm flew out, barring Bucky from moving forward. Bucky’s hand came up, and he pointed a mechanically-whirring finger directly in Tony’s face.

“You even look at ‘er wrong, and I’ll have you fucked up six ways from Sunday in a heartbeat,” Bucky spat bitterly. Tony took a step forward, swatting Bucky’s hand out of the air.

“Don’t threaten me, old timer. I’ll have her head served up on a god damn silver platter with the rest of those bastards. Maybe not today, tomorrow, or the next day, but I _will_ kill them. Next week, next month, next year, who knows? Sooner or later, they’re gonna slip up. They’ll let their guard down, they’ll make a mistake. And when they do – oh god, when they do – you can bet that I’ll be the first in line to put ‘em in the ground. _Especially_ her. You can’t protect her forever, Barnes. You know what she is.” Bucky clenched his fists, starting a new round of recalibration in his arm. He looked like he was ready to punch a hole right through Stark’s chest.

Steve’s arm tensed, trying to ward off Bucky’s rage. If he really wanted to attack Tony, there would be nothing Steve could do to stop him.

“Who’s makin’ threats now? Kill the rest of them for all I care, but you leave ‘er out of it. She ain’t done nothin’ t’ you.” Steve gave Bucky a stern stare, pointing to the door.

“Get some air, Buck. Cool off,” he commanded. Bucky hesitated, contemplating kicking Tony’s ass, but decided against it. He stalked off towards the balcony door.

Tony plopped down on the couch, chugging his drink.

“You need to talk some sense into him, Cap. He’s not thinkin’ right,” Tony quipped, crossing his arms. Steve snorted, more irritated than amused. He gave Tony an irate glare before turning on his heel and heading towards the door.

“Just keep your mouth shut ‘til you sober up, Stark.” Tony scoffed. He was about to retort, most likely some sort of snarky, off-handed comeback, but Steve’s ringtone cut him off. Steve fished in his pockets, digging out his phone.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end was weak, broken, and definitively female. It didn’t take but a second for Steve to figure out who it was. Tony was staring at him with leery eyes.

“Captain Rogers,” she sighed. “Captain, I need your help.” The feeling stirring in his stomach was anything but welcomed. Panic welled in his throat, and he did his best to swallow it down.

“Thought you didn’t want our kinda help?” There was a cut off sob on the other end of the line. It left a sense of guilt in Steve’s chest.

“I can offer you something in return, Rogers. Can we meet somewhere? Please? I’m willing to exchange sensitive information. You can pick the time; you can pick the place, but please don’t tell James. I know you don’t owe me anything, Captain. I know.”

“What could you possibly offer me? After all of this, what would I possibly need from you?”

“Rumlow. I can give you Rumlow.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abuse of dialogue in this one. There's tons of it.  
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

The air conditioning unit let out period shrill whistles, accompanied by a gust of cold air. Captain Rogers had selected a café far from the city. It was quiet and somewhat run down, but apparently popular amongst locals. He’d compromised to meet in the middle, on the condition that he be permitted to bring someone with him. That in itself set you on edge a bit, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. He’d acknowledged and accepted your wish to leave James out of it for now, much to your relief. It had to be hard on him to have to keep things from his best friend, but in your condition, it was for the best. There’s no way James would be able to stand seeing you in such awful shape again…

A chime sounded from the bell on top of the glass door. You knew without looking up that it was Rogers and, presumably, his cohort. The wafting cologne was the first giveaway. If there was any sort of scent in this world that conveyed righteousness and freedom, it was that of Steve Rogers.

You shifted in the seat, feeling the tear in the bench rub against your jeans. Another sharp whistle sounded, and you pulled your hoodie tighter around you, awaiting the next icy gale. Without fail, it came and went, and two burly blonde men tucked themselves into the other side of the booth. The waitress didn’t miss a beat, appearing beside the table before anyone had a chance to get a word out.

“What can I get for you gentlemen?” she chirped, tapping her pen against the pad of paper.

“Just coffee for me, please, ma’am,” Rogers answered. The other man cut him off in a thunderous voice, ordering half the damn menu. You cracked a tiny smile and thanked her after she refilled your mug with fresh coffee. She then bustled off to check on other tables, leaving the three of you in peace. You slid your sunglasses off, setting them on the table. Purple and yellow patches decorated your flesh; only offset by the breaks of your skin tone you and the large gash across your cheek.

The Captain’s face was unreadable, like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or get upset. Either action seemed somewhat unreasonable in a sense.

“Rumlow do that?” he asked, watching you slide your hood down. You nodded slowly. “You’ve been cryin’.” It wasn’t a question. He knew. You used your sleeve to wipe at your face, wincing every time you came into contact with another bump or bruise.

“He wants another fight,” you stated plainly, taking another sip of your coffee. “He wants the rest of you dead.”

“Why would you warn us?” Rogers glanced at Thor, clasping his hands. They came to rest on top of the table. “Isn’t that what you want too?” You shook your head firmly, maintaining eye contact.

“I can’t put James in danger like that again. I will not risk the lives of my team to start a war that none of us want.” That really seemed to catch the attention of both men. Thor’s ears perked up and he leaned forward a little.

“That is Rumlow’s end game? He wants war?” You nodded, finally looking down.

“And what is it that you want?” Rogers questioned. “You could easily end Rumlow on your own. Hell, your team could do it in seconds. So why come to us?” Your eyes met his once again, but this time, there was a fire behind them. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right?

“I’m not asking you to get rid of him, Captain. That honor will be mine and mine alone. I’ll give you the entire remainder of the HYDRA operation on two conditions: one, my team will not be harmed. They will walk away of their own volition, or they will be dealt with accordingly by _me_.”

“And the second condition?”

“The second, I’ve already made clear. Brock will die. He will be tortured, dismembered, and disposed of as any man like him should be. But your men won’t have any part in it. I need to be the one to do this, and James will not know. He’s a wild card in the field, and he could jeopardize everything.”

“So, you want Buck and your team safe, and you’ll kill Rumlow and give us the rest of HYDRA?” Steve clarified, exchanging a look of disbelief with Thor, who, at this time, had a mouth overflowing with pancakes.

“If you do not mind,” Thor started in after swallowing his mouthful. “How did you come to be so battered? I understand you have a relationship of sorts with this Rumlow, correct? You are courting him, yes?” You inhaled sharply, sounding more like a hiss, but nodded.

“Somewhat of a relationship, yes, but he’s got a nasty temper and a mean right hook. Under normal circumstances, I would never ever consider harming him. But he crossed a line, he killed one of our own out of spite, and I will not stand for that. Brock kills for shits and giggles while the rest of us do it out of necessity.”

“When it murder ever necessary? When can you justify ending someone’s life?” Rogers snorted. His tone was full of anger, evident in the way he kept clenching his fists.

“How many people have you killed, Captain?” you spat back, narrowing your eyes. “How many lives have you taken for the greater good? Your hands are not clean, sir, and I request that you be mindful of such. None of you are innocent. We were following orders. We were under the impression that you were a threat to our organization and to humanity itself. Have you ever made a bad call, Captain? Have you ever wished you could undo something?” He nodded solemnly, lowering his head. “Then you know just how troublesome this is. I am trying to make amends, not only for myself, but for my team. If you aren’t willing to put this behind us for the time being, then I will walk out of here right now and we’ll settle this when one side or the other has been completely wiped out. Can you live with that, Captain Rogers? Can you live with innocent blood on your hands?”

“You’re far from innocent,” he fired back, raising his voice. “You’re just as much a monster as Rumlow is, and you know it! You may not have directly killed anyone on my team, but you did more than your fair share to put them in the ground. One of my men may never recover from what was done to him. If you think I’m willing to just forgive and forget, you’re fucking insane!” He slammed his fists down on the table, chest heaving.

Thor placed his hand on Rogers’ shoulder.

“Brother Steven, there is no need for such rage. The lady is attempting to make amends, as she said. For the sake of us all, we must take into consideration what she is offering. We have been decimated thus far, dropping our numbers by more than half. If we can ensure the safety of their team – and please, dear lady, tell me if I am wrong – then they may consider joining us. We could do a great many things for this world with their skills. Do not alienate the one woman who may be able to bridge this gap. Surviving members of her team may not be initially as forthcoming and willing to compromise as she.”

You bowed your head briefly, silently thanking the large man. He had a valid point, and it seemed like Rogers was beginning to recognize that. His shoulders stopped their constant rise/fall pattern, slowing to an almost undetectable pace. The sweat beading on his forehead had begun to dissipate, and his hands were slowly relaxing.

With those big blue eyes staring at you, he reached across the table, resting his hand on top of yours.

“I’ll agree to your conditions. I apologize for my skepticism, but I’m sure you understand _why_ I’m having such a hard time believing you. It’s difficult for me to figure out why you’d turn your back on the only thing you’ve known your entire life.” His voice had quieted considerably, probably trying to draw less attention. The feeling of his fingers on yours was something foreign, something you hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime. It felt kind, welcoming, like he was wordlessly implying that everything would be okay. His touch wasn’t like Brock’s. It wasn’t even like James’. There was something untainted about the gentle nature of his skin on yours.

“If I’m completely honest, Captain, I can’t live like this anymore. I won’t live my life worried about Brock’s anger; I won’t be anxious and jumpy, just waiting for him to beat me again. I refuse to continue living in fear. It’s been so long since I’ve actually smiled. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be happy, Steve. And as awful as it sounds, I think the moment I get to watch the life leave his eyes, I’ll know what happiness feels like again.”

The two of them looked at each other, both somewhat fighting back those pathetic looks of sympathy.

“Let me go pay for the big man’s buffet over here and we’ll get outta here. I think we’ve covered everything we need to for tonight.”

After he settled the bill, Captain Rogers was kind enough to hold the door open for you, and you turned towards the left, heading back to your car. The two men branched towards the right, about the head back to their vehicle.

“Well, we’ll be in touch,” Rogers muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. He turned away from you, and you couldn’t believe you were about to do this, but you had to.

“Hey, Rogers?”

“Yeah?” he muttered, turning back around. You took a deep breath, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked like he was about to shrug it off, but for some reason, he didn’t.

“You did everything you could to save my son. It’s… It’s not your fault he didn’t make it. I had no right to be angry. If this is going to work out, I need to ask you to forgive me.” That was the closest thing he was going to get to an apology, so you certainly hoped he’d take it.

“Can you forgive me for not being able to do more to help?”

You sighed with a heavy heart, wishing you could say something to wipe away the crushed look on his face. Despite everything, that look was actually causing a pain in your chest.

“There was nothing more you could have done, and I am grateful for the things you did to save me. I only wish I could tell Doctor Banner the same.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm so fucking sorry. You'll understand why later.  
> Secondly, fuck, I'm so sorry.  
> Third, please forgive me.
> 
> This one is a bit short, but I'll more than make up for it with the next chapter!
> 
> You know the drill by now.  
> <3

Brock was on a rager. He was positively fucking furious. Where the hell could she have gone? Why is it so god damn hard to find her? She knew better. She fucking knew better. It was common sense to everyone that when you work for Brock Rumlow, you make damn sure you’re always accessible. When he called, her phone kept going to voicemail, meaning that not only was it turned off, but he also couldn’t track it. All his texts went unanswered, no one else knew where she went, and Brock was almost completely certain that he’d beat that little bitch to within an inch of her life if she didn’t have a good excuse.

No sooner than he had just about dispatched the cavalry at his disposal, she strolled in, with Jack by her side. Brock dismissed Jack with a wave of his hand, and as soon as he was out of sight, Brock grabbed a fist full of her hair. He yanked it back, forcing her to look up at him.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he spat, tightening his grip. She made no attempts to pull away from him, much to his dismay. When she didn’t answer, his arm surged forward, slamming her face into the drywall. She cringed a little as blood began to pour from her nose. A twisted leer found its way to his lips and he bit back a chuckle.

“Answer me. I’m not going to ask you again, _princess_.”

“I went to get breakfast, sir. Just needed to get out for a while,” she said quietly.

“With whom?” he whispered, nipping at the top of her ear. She shook her head.

“No one, sir. I went alone.” He chuckled and twisted his fist, throwing her to the floor like a rag doll.

“I don’t believe you. Try again. Choose your words carefully; it will decide how you’re reprimanded.” She opened her mouth to speak again, but he cut her off, not awaiting a reply. “You went and saw The Asset, didn’t you?” She didn’t answer. “You did, didn’t you?!”

“No! Brock, no. I didn’t. I swear to God, I didn’t!” she screamed, trying to shield her abdomen. Admittedly, he lost his cool. No longer was he the calm, collected man he’d been earlier. Never once did he hesitate, continually striking her in the stomach with punishing blows.

“You worthless little fucking cunt! Stupid fucking whore!” he roared, landing the toe of his boot into her rib cage. There was a nasty crunch. Wheezing breaths came from her throat, sounding like she was choking. Oh, how he loved that sound. Amongst all the blood on the floor, there was one patch he didn’t particularly notice. It was flooding down her thigh, seeping through her jeans.

He crouched down beside her, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“I’m going to end this once and for all.”

 

*

 

Bucky placed his pen down cautiously, looking around. It was a force of habit for him, he wrote when he got anxious. More often than not, he wrote letters to his love. This was no exception.

It was folded with extreme care, each crease pressed in a perfectly straight line. Bucky stuffed it into an envelope and timidly wrote her name on the front. The heavy thud of Steve’s boots sounded, followed by the gentle creak of his bedroom door. Steve had disappeared for a few hours, as well as Thor. Considering he was about ready to snap Stark’s neck, Bucky elected to hole himself up in his room. He slipped it into the front cover of the book on the side table, grabbed his wallet, and stepped out.

“Hey, Stevie! I’m goin’ out! Need anythin’ from the store?” Bucky hollered down the hall. Steve poked his head out, looking one direction, then the other, where Bucky stood.

“You goin’ to the one up the street or ‘cross town?”

“Up the street. I ain’t fightin’ traffic this early in the mornin’ just t’get some popcorn.” Bucky’s tongue rolled thoughtfully over his lower lip. He could practically already taste the butter and salt. “Y’want me to get you some jelly beans?” Steve nodded emphatically, tugging a sweatshirt on over his head. He jogged down the remainder of the hall, standing at Bucky’s side.

“Where you think you’re goin’? Get your ass back in your room, Rogers. Stark would tan that hide of yours if he saw ya tryin’ to leave again. Y’know he’s pissed, right? That you left?” Steve chuckled.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, Buck. Just gonna walk down with ya. I got some good news.” That certainly caught Bucky’s attention. He yanked Steve towards the stairwell, slinging his arm over his best friend’s shoulder.

“Good news, huh? Spill it, bud!” And that’s exactly what Steve did. Words began to pour out of his mouth. Not anything pertaining to his three-in-the-morning meet-up with Bucky’s best girl, but most of the talk had to do with her. Telling Bucky all about how Steve thought for sure that, with Bucky’s help, they could convince her team to join up with them, bury the hatchet and all.

Bucky was the first to stuff himself through the front door, still lugging Steve along with him. He finally dropped his arm. They were laughing and joking just like old times. Apparently the less-than-detailed account of Steve and Thor’s little ‘meeting’ put Buck in a positively exuberant mood. Man, Steve wished someone else would’ve seen the smile on Bucky’s face right then.

“Yeah, punk. I’ll be back in ten, a’right?” Bucky clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder, grinning. “We’ll talk about it more after, okay?” Steve nodded. “Now get your rear back upstairs before Stark wrings your neck.”

“Sure thing, jerk. Don’t forget my jelly beans!” Bucky chuckled.

“Ain’t no way I’d forget that, Stevie. You turn into a regular knucklehead when you don’t get your sugar!” Steve snorted, giving Bucky a gentle shove.

“Get outta here!” Bucky tossed a lopsided grin over his shoulder, sauntering a few steps down the sidewalk. Steve yanked the door open, heading inside. A pair of noises at his back not only stopped Steve in his tracks, but might as well have ripped his still-beating heart from his chest. The first ruckus was a gunshot, sharp and clear. And the second, the one that nearly killed him on the spot, was the sound of Bucky’s metal arm clattering against the pavement.

Steve spun back, eyeing the other side of the street. All he saw was a man with a horrifically scarred face and a big, white X painted across his chest plate.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait, guys!  
> Rough translation: Jesus Christ, you look like hell.  
> Feedback appreciated.
> 
> <3

You quietly took a seat at the table. Eight empty chairs surrounded you. Never in your life had you ever felt so low, so alone. Whenever you’d started to sink like that before, you could turn to Bristol or Nico, and you’d feel better. _But they’re dead. You can’t go to them. They died because you were too fucking stupid to accept help from Rogers in the first place. You killed them. They’re dead because of you. You killed them. You killed them. You killed them._

“Jesus Christ. What happened to you?” Gabriel sat down next to you, running his finger over the gouge in your lip. You gave him a sideways glance, fighting to keep the tears at bay. “You get into it with Rumlow again?”

There was a hesitation, but you nodded.

“And the baby?” Your jaw fell slack. Gabriel muttered your name, placing his hand over the back of yours. “What happened to the baby?”

_The baby._

_The baby._

_The baby._

Everything went out of focus. Your vision blurred, and it sounded like you were underwater. Instinctively, you clutched your stomach and looked down. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. You felt like you were falling. There were thousands of hands all over you. But in reality, there were only two, and they both belonged to Gabriel. He was calling your name repeatedly, shaking you as gently as possible.

“Hey… Hey! Come on. Look at me. Focus on me. Breathe. In, out. In, out. Come on. You can do this, kid. Focus on me.” When your line of sight sharpened again, you were no longer sitting at the table, but rather lying on the floor beside your chair. Gabe was hovering over you, grasping your shoulders with his gloved hands. “Can you sit up? Do you need some water? Isus Hristos, arăți ca naiba.”

“Shut up,” you muttered back, forcing yourself upright. He chuckled hesitantly, moving a hand to your back.

“You didn’t know, did you? That you were pregnant?” You shook your head, still trying to grasp the whole situation.

“How… How did _you_ know, Gabe?” He sighed.

“I could feel it. When I had my accident, something happened. I can feel when someone is carrying a new life. I can feel new beginnings. And it’s the same with death. If someone is about to die, I just know. I knew exactly how many would die in that field. Ironic, isn’t it? I touch someone, and they die, but I _cannot_. I know the exact moment someone’s life will end, but mine never will. I-”

“How far along was I?” The hitch in your voice made him stop talking. His expression tightened, and he got very solemn.

“Three months. Almost out of your first trimester. I am sure you already know this, but it was Rumlow’s child. A girl, by the feel of it, in case you wanted to name her.” Gabriel helped you to your feet, pulling you into a firm hug. “I am so sorry. I am sorry he took this from you. We will get him back. We will get him for everything he has done to us.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Gabe. Captain Rogers and I struck up a deal, and I need your help if this is going to work.”

“You know I don’t trust him. I don’t trust any of them. You saw what they did to us, what _he_ did to _you_. Why-” You held your hand up, effectively stopping his rant.

“You’ll never hear me say it again, and if you tell anyone, I’ll adamantly deny it, but I was wrong about him. Steve Rogers is not the enemy.”

 

*

 

Pain never seemed to bother you much. You couldn’t really feel it anymore. A pen and a safety pin were probably the least of your concerns with the condition you were in. Besides, after the third letter, it just kind of went numb. Blood stained your flesh, mixed with excess ink from the pen and bourbon from the bottle on the floor, but your daughter needed to join her brother on your makeshift monument.

Steven James Barnes, the son that was taken much too early. Nicole Bristol Barnes, the daughter that never had a chance. It didn’t matter that neither had ever been given the opportunity to take their first breath. It didn’t matter that they’d never seen your face. They had heard your voice, and they’d heard their father: one biological, one by choice. Nicole would have been your second chance at a life with James. He would’ve proudly been her dad, which is why you gave her his last name. The name that was now tattooed on your thigh, just below your son’s.

There was a knock at your bedroom door. You slowly hauled yourself to your feet, wiping at the blood with your fingers. It streaked down your thigh, leaving a long smear. The journey to the door was a difficult one. You staggered, clutching the bottle and pressing it to your lips. Another brisk knock sounded, before you gave up and just yelled, “Come in”. The wood parted from the frame, revealing fucking Rumlow.

“Get out,” you hissed, taking another long swig.

“You just told me to come in, princess. Make up your mind!” he chuckled, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Get out, Rumlow. Get out. Get the fuck out.” He looked offended, putting a hand on his chest.

“Sugar, that’s no way to treat the man you love.” His eyes wandered to the new marking on your thigh and he raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck did you do to yourself? Come here. Let me see it.”

You refused. He advanced towards you, closing the already small gap. A hand stretched forward to touch your hip. For the first time in potentially your entire life, you weren’t going to let him touch you. You slapped his hand away, fully expecting it to come right back in your face. And yet, it didn’t.

“Don’t be so difficult. Come here.” You clenched your jaw and took a few steps back. Brock moved forward again. You reeled back, throwing the near empty bottle of Bourbon at his head. It missed by near inches, but it looked like it had startled him.

“Get the fuck out! Get out! Get out!” you screamed, wiping a stray tear with that back of your hand. “Get the fuck away from me, Rumlow, or I swear to God, I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Kick my ass? Torture me? Kill me? I’m standing right here, honey. C’mon.” His tone was challenging, but on his last sentence, it became remorseful. You _wanted_ to throw a punch. You _wanted_ to torture him. You _wanted_ to kill him. So, of course, you just sat down on the edge of your bed, burying your face in your hands. You’d been trained not to react, no matter how badly you wanted to hurt him. The only thing that held you back at this point was the fact that you wanted to remember every single detail of skinning this man alive.

He kneeled in front of you, trying to pry your hands from your face. When his skin made contact with yours, you recoiled violently, landing a biting slap against the side of his face. Your fists pummeled his chest, with you screaming all the while. Screaming things like: _I hate you, fuck you, get your hands off me, I will fucking kill you._

“Babe, stop! Don’t fight me on this!” He gripped your face between his palms, looking you directly in the eyes. “Baby, please. Let me take care of you. We need to get this cleaned up. I don’t want it to get infected.” You didn’t bother to struggle anymore. His hold was firm, but not the same angered firm he usually used. The look in his eyes wasn’t his typical blank stare or smug glare. He looked genuine, sincere. His fingers trailed your jaw, and he hooked one finger under your chin.

“Rumlow, let go,” you spat calmly. He shook his head, holding your stare. It became clear that he wasn’t going to back down. Rumlow was never the type of man to lend a helping hand, not even in the easiest of situations. But this? He was on his knees, pleading for you to let him fix you up. He was begging you to give him the opportunity to help. This man was not Rumlow. The man before you was Brock. It was actually Brock, with his heart on his sleeve and the world in his hands for your taking.

“No, not until you let me clean you off.” Your gaze narrowed, trying to figure out what game he was playing this time. “I don’t want to see you hurt like this, sweetheart. I love you.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive feedback is really needed at this point.  
> What do you like? What don't you like?  
> I can't improve if I don't know where the problems are, my loves!
> 
> <3

Steve was pacing again. One hand was carded through his hair, raking at his scalp. How could he have let this happen? Bucky wasn’t supposed to leave the tower for any reason whatsoever, per explicit orders from Fury. Bucky wasn’t ready to go out. People were still looking for him. Bad people. People who wanted him dead or back in HYDRA custody. They’d never get their filthy hands on him now, though…

“You doing alright, Cap?” Tony asked quietly. “Anything I can do?” Steve looked down from the same ceiling tile he’d been staring at all morning. He wasn’t paying much attention and the stain on the tile proved to be rather distracting. In any case, he shook his head.

“Not unless you can get me Rumlow and a blow torch,” Steve muttered, retrieving the hand from his hair in order to fold his arms across his chest. Tony chuckled hesitantly, almost like he wasn’t exactly sure whether a laugh was appropriate or not. He clamped a hand between Steve’s shoulder blades.

“I can get you a blow torch, but getting Rumlow is gonna be a bit of a chore. We can do it, though. Give me two days, a hooker, and that crazy little murderous bitch of his and you’ll get your revenge, Rogers.” Steve shook his head firmly, looking Tony in the eye.

“Leave her out of it, Stark, please.” His eyes were pleading, and Tony just looked shocked.

“Oh, you’re defending her now, too?” Steve shook his head and gesturing to the pair of chairs in the corner of the room.

“I’m not defending anyone, Tony. Just don’t bring her up. Especially not since… Because Bucky’s… Y’know, just don’t, okay?” Tony gave him a resigned look, but cooperatively took a seat.

Steve’s nerves were burning up. Each and every one was set on fire, swimming with anxiety. How was he going to tell Tony? Tony hated this girl. Not only her, but those she worked with. There was no way he would take Steve’s news well. Tony would never be okay with letting them anywhere near the remaining Avengers, particularly the Romanian kid. He’d been directly responsible for the death of Tony’s closest friend, and frankly, Steve wouldn’t put it passed Tony to snuff the poor kid in his sleep. Regardless, Steve knew he had to come clean. As much as Tony would hate it, Steve had made a promise, and he was never one to go back on his word.

He dropped in the chair beside Tony with a heavy sigh. Eyes felt like they were burning into him from all directions. Someone turned a spotlight on and was shining it directly in his face.

“Thor and I had a meeting this morning,” he blurted out. Tony raised an eyebrow and crossed his legs.

“And what, pray tell, was this meeting about?” he quipped, shooting Steve a feigned look of disinterest. Steve rolled his eyes, but continued.

“We talked about how to deal with Rumlow’s team, actually.” Tony’s ears perked up and any trace of indifference disappeared. “Before you flip your lid, though, hear me out. We’ve been offered both Rumlow and HYDRA on a silver platter and an opportunity to rebuild our team.” He was pulling out the big guns for this one, using his Captain America voice. Tony needed to take him seriously, and that was hard to do when he was too busy mocking Steve’s Brooklyn lingo.

“What’s the catch?” Tony was rightfully suspicious. The way he was staring Steve down was unsettling enough without the mistrustful inflection in his voice. Steve groaned inwardly, scrubbing his hand across the back of his neck.

“I need you to think this through logically before you shoot it down,” Steve began. Tony cut him off immediately, voice rising in volume.

“No, no, absolutely not. Abso-fucking-lutely not, Rogers. Are you out of your god damn mind? Have you forgotten what they’ve done? Not only to us, but to innocent civilians! Have you forgotten all the fucking turmoil they’ve put this team through to begin with? You think Natasha would be okay with this? Or how about Clint? You think Clint would be okay with this? If you want to work with those… Those fucking – god damn it! If you want to team up with those fucking monstrosities, you go right ahead. I won’t stop you. But don’t ever come to me for help, Steve. I’m not going to sit by and watch you get yourself killed.” Steve was, to say the least, absolutely stunned. His capacity for forming words had diminished to nearly nothing, since all that came out was stuttered syllables and grunts.

“What about Barnes?” Tony continued. “What about the things they’ve done to him? For Christ’s sake, Rogers, they’re fucking HYDRA. Rumlow just put a fucking bullet in your best friend. Hell, you were just asking me – and I’m paraphrasing here – if you could kill him for it! What makes you think that slimy little bitch won’t turn on you after she gets what she wants?”

He was on his feet now, pacing back and forth. Steve watched from his seat as Tony pulled a hand through his hair. His face was beginning to redden, and his chest was heaving. It didn’t seem like Tony actually wanted Steve to answer his question at first, but the longer he remained silent, the more Steve struggled to keep his mouth shut.

“Cap, I understand. Really, I do. Barnes loved this girl, despite everything she’s done. I know he’d want you to take care of her. But what’s going to stop her from slitting your throat while you’re sleeping once she’s finished her mission?” Tony’s voice had changed considerably over the course of his pacing.

“She’s willing to hand over the remainder of HYDRA, Tony. Rumlow dealt her the same punishment he shelled out a few hours ago. Shot her best friend in the head right beside her. She won’t tolerate that, and neither will I. I know we have no reason to trust her, but something in my gut is telling me to. If she knew – y’know, ‘bout Bucky? – I think he’d be dead before she even hung up the phone.”

Before Steve could say any more or Tony could make a rebuttal, a meek voice interrupted.

“Captain Rogers?” Steve leaned to the left a little, trying to see who was speaking by peaking around Tony’s stalled form. A small woman with her black hair tied in a bun stood in front of the door in the hallway. When Steve carried Bucky’s limp body back into the tower, they’d put him in there. They wouldn’t let Steve in, though. Not yet. He supposed they needed to examine Bucky first.

“Captain, you can go in now. I’m sure you’ve got some things you’d like to say, but please, make it quick. I have an associate on the way to retrieve him.” Her tone was hushed, far from warm.

Steve’s jaw tensed as he looked to Tony. Tony just patted his shoulder and gestured to the room.

“Go do what you need to do, Cap. We’ll be here when you’re done.” Steve nodded and stood up. He shook his hands out, trying to calm the nerves. It didn’t do much good, frankly.

He slid passed Tony, trying to keep his gait less than a jog but more than a stroll. The woman stepped to the side when he opened the door.

The sight of his best friend on a gurney made Steve somewhat nauseas. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it, but it still got to him every time. His stomach was in knots, and for a second, Steve wasn’t quite sure he could do this.

“Steve, ya mind gettin’ this shit offa me?” Bucky quipped whilst sitting up, pointing to the machines surrounding him. “I ain’t dyin’, y’know. Just got shot. Ain’t even a big deal.”

“Jesus Christ, Buck, you scared the hell outta me!” Bucky just grinned.

“Y’ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy, Rogers.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short, I know, but crucial.  
> Feedback, as always, is appreciated!
> 
> <3

The staggering height of the tower was quite the imposing presence. It was one of the largest buildings in New York City, and just standing beneath it was enough to make your stomach churn. You weren’t quite sure if you were ready for this. It was nerve-wracking, and though you were never really one for it, you were actually pretty intimidated. Standing in front of those sliding glass doors felt like being dropped in the story of David and Goliath.

Though the glass, you could see Steve rapidly approaching. It’d been a few days since you last heard anything from him, but he’d made the request for you to come, citing your discussion as motive to meet with you again. There was a mention of sitting you down with Thor and Tony Stark to discuss plans, and Steve had said that you were welcome to bring another member of your team. It would have been fair to have a three-on-one conversation. Naturally, you made the decision to have Gabe accompany you, but with his track record involving Stark, it was determined that the best course of action was to bring Bailey. She was much more level-headed than Jack and held in higher esteem than Gabriel.

A brief but brazen breeze whipped a strand of flaming red hair across her face. Her eyes drifted from Steve’s approaching frame to you.

“Are you certain that you wish to do this?” she inquired, lacing her fingers between yours. This was no time to be second guessing, so you merely nodded and looked to her. Bailey smiled softly. She gave your hand a quick squeeze just as the doors ahead of you parted. “Then let us begin, I suppose.”

Steve shot the pair of you a gentle smile, stepping outside. A storm was rolling in, turning the sky from a vivid blue to a melancholy hue of grey. The clouds hung heavy and low. They carried an overwhelming, overbearing sense of dread. You shared a look with Bailey, who then looked at Steve.

“Captain Rogers, thank you for agreeing to convene,” she said softly, holding her free hand out to him. He took it timidly, but shook it all the same.

“You’re welcome. I think we oughtta head inside, though, before this storm hits.” He gestured to the door. Bailey nudged your hand forward, and you followed Steve in. Per (what you assumed was) the usual, the entire building was buzzing with people. He led the pair of you through the lobby, weaving his way towards the elevator. The sea made no efforts to part for him until he lifted his head. He straightened his spine and pushed his shoulders back, forcing his chest to swell a bit. Once that Captain America stance was in place, it seemed like they all began practically falling all over themselves to get out of his way. Everyone began to duck their heads and clear a path. To be fair, he looked like he was on a mission, and for all intents and purposes, he was.

The large steel doors of the elevator separated on approach. Steve paused in the entry way, holding out an arm, allowing both you and Bailey to squeeze in front of him. He filed in right behind and let the doors slide shut.

“JARVIS, twelfth floor, please,” he announced, tacking the final word on to make it a request. Another voice came from seemingly nowhere, confirming his command. The stall lurched, but began its ascent. Numbers slowly began to tick across the LED screen, rising from one to nine just in the time you were looking. An upwards-facing arrow flashed a few times, reminding you which direction you were heading. Another sharp lurch concluded the ride as the voice came back over the intercom.

“Twelfth floor, Captain Rogers. A reminder to check your guests in with Mr. Hogan at the security desk.” Steve thanked the voice, then escorted the two of you to a large oak desk in the twelfth floor lobby.

“Afternoon, Happy. I need to get two visitors badges. Don’t worry, these gals are with me.” The man behind the desk was tall, stocky, with dark hair slicked back. His dark eyes scanned over your face, then Bailey’s. The look on his face was stoic, apprehensive, and definitely very suspicious. Steve was drumming the tips of his fingers against the desk, attempting to look as impatient as possible. It was obvious that he didn’t want to have to answer any questions or attempt to explain who you were, especially if Tony had already discussed the situation with him.

Instead of trying to make an inquiry, he just pushed a pair of passes across to Steve. There was no blinking involved, and his eyes never left your face. He was definitely mistrustful, and rightfully so. Steve snatched up the laminated slips and clipped one to your shirt. Bailey pinned hers on herself, and Steve began to lead the way down the corridor after giving the man a boisterous ‘thanks’.

At the end of the hall, to the right, there was a door. It housed a pane of tempered, translucent glass. Shapes and colors moved briskly on the other side. When Steve hesitated after grabbing the handle, Bailey clutched your wrist. The nerves radiating from her flesh were a sure sign of panic.

“I do not know if I can do this,” she whispered, letting her fingertip tap the inside of your arm timidly. “What if we are not as conniving as we believe? What if they turn on us? Brock will not be kind upon our return if he finds out.” You looked at Steve, whose face was nothing if not sympathetic. He had the same reservations. Frankly, you were all nervous. No one knew if they could trust the others, but one thing was certain, you had to try.

You gave her a reassuring smile and pulled your arm back, placing your hand tightly in hers.

“We’re going to be okay. Steve is a good man. He _can_ be trusted. Everything will be fine,” you asserted softly. She just nodded.

Steve led you into the room, closing the door quietly.

At the table sat Tony Stark (sans Iron Man suit), Thor, and…

“James?” you whispered. He lifted his pale blue eyes, peering through a curtain of dark hair. Realization settled in, and with no hesitancy, he bolted upright. In a few short strides, he rounded the edge of the table. Bailey’s hand slipped out of yours as he came to a halt in front of you.

You glanced back at Steve, unsure of whether you were angry with him for not keeping his promise or just overwhelmed with actually being face-to-face with James again outside of a mission. He shot you an apologetic look, but nodded towards James. When you looked back, James’ face was mere inches from yours. You could feel the wash of his heated, labored breaths against your skin. His forehead came to rest against yours, and your name rolled gently from his lips with a sigh.

“Jesus Christ, I’ve missed you so much,” he muttered. For a second, his lips pressed to yours. “Got a lotta time to make up to you, but I s’pose we need’a get down to business, huh?” You nodded, unsure of where this was going to go. There was one thing, though, of which you were certain. You’d spent too much time on the wrong side, and you’d likely spend every day of the rest of your life trying to make things right.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long! I've been a bit preoccupied as of lately.  
> Really want feedback on this, since it's finally coming to a close.
> 
> <3

Brock’s gait was nothing short of murderous. There was usually an arrogant swagger in his hips, but not today. His fists stayed balled up at his side. The tension thrumming through his body carried an innate inability to be eased, as was normal for him. He was fucking _pissed_.

With no less than four kills under his belt for that morning alone, everyone within the facility was making it their personal mission to avoid Brock as much as possible. They would only interact if absolutely necessary. No one approached unless they had orders to fulfill or a deathwish.

His lengthy strides lead him directly to Dr. Valen’s office. With a swift kick, the door flew back, slamming into the drywall. Molly sighed, wondering what, pray tell, was the problem this time. She soon got her answer.

“Where the fuck is she?” he roared, slamming the door behind him. Molly looked up over the rim of her glasses, one eyebrow raised. Papers cluttered the top of her desk, coating it in a sea of black and white. She was hardly intimidated by Brock, regardless of his title, stature, or strength.

“Where is who?” she countered, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose with the tip of her index finger.

“Don’t fucking play games with me, Molly. You won’t win. Now tell me where she is.” She knew already. She knew she couldn’t win and any attempts to do so would result in immediate dismissal. By dismissal, she meant death. Brock would slit her from ear to ear just to make an example out of her. But in no way would that sway her, not in the slightest. Her duty was first and foremost the wellbeing of his team. Considering how many of them had died while under her care, it was a wonder she was even still alive at this point.

“Brock-”

“ _Tell_ _me_ where the fuck she is! My _girlfriend_ , Molly! My fucking _girlfriend_! Where is she? I swear to God, if you fucking lie to me…”

“She has been sent out on a mission with Miss Sumner. Fret not, they’ll return this evening.” Brock let out a growl before swiping every scrap of paper from her desk, shoving it all to the side.

“I didn’t send her on any god damn missions!”

“But I did,” Molly said softly, folding her hands together on top of her desk. That was about the point where Brock sort of lost control. He didn’t falter when it came to wrapping his hand around her throat and throwing her up against the wall. She remained pinned there, feet dangling off the floor. His face was mere inches from hers, and his voice had dropped dangerously low.

“You don’t make the calls around here, _Doctor_ ,” he spit. “ _I_ do. _I’m_ in charge here. Call them back. Get _her_ back here, and I _might_ let you live.” With the last of his venom still clinging to the air, he just dropped Molly. He just let go all together, leaving her in a crumpled heap on the floor. Not once did she protest, nor did she cry out or even look up. Her face stayed buried against her arms. His marred face and wild eyes stayed trained on her for a few minutes in absolute silence.

Brock flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes, raking it back with the rest.

“Get her back here, Molly. I won’t tell you again.” He took one final swing, knocking the lamp into the wall, before turning on his heel and storming out. With cloudy eyes and an even more clouded mind, he stalked his way back to his office before completely losing it.

Brock had slipped up. He never referred to her as his girlfriend, because that’s not what she was. She was an employee, she was expendable. There was nothing special about her, and Brock knew he could easily do better. That girl was nothing but a toy to him, a little doll for him to tinker with in his spare time. It wasn’t uncommon for him to fuck her nice and slow and then beat her to within an inch of her life in the same day. She didn’t matter. She was nothing.

No matter how many times he told himself that, Brock never believed it. Truthfully, being with her was the closest thing to being in love he’d ever felt. Did he really love her? Absolutely not. He wasn’t capable of loving anything other than himself and his cause. But if he could fall in love with someone, he’s want it to be her. With everything he’d put her through, she still stood by him. Their fights never ended in anything short of broken bones and blood, but she never turned her back on him. Everything she held dearest was taken from her because of Brock, and she still never left him. He’d murdered her best friend purely out of disappointment over a mission, and she was still his.

Nothing survived the catastrophic tornado that hit his office. The desk had been kicked to pieced, lamps smashed and walls decorated with holes. Crumbs of drywall speckled his hair, face, and fists from the parade of punches he’d thrown. All of his tech was destroyed, shattered. Shards of glass from the screens gave the carpet a glimmer from the lights. Not that those had been left untouched either. Loose objects like staplers, tape holders, his phone; they’d all been thrown at the fixtures, destroying the covers. The scars lining half of his face had been snipped and sliced by falling glass, leaving streaks of his blood running down his chin.

Unwilling to admit such, he was praying that she would forgive him. But in the same turn, she had disobeyed. She’d taken orders from someone else, and that was unacceptable. Brock wasn’t looking forward to seeing her, to seeing what he was about to do to her. It had to be done, though. And he had to be the one to do it…

 

*

 

“You guys ready for this?” Steve asked softly, sliding his shield forward over his shoulder. Tony nodded, flicking a small button to lower the mask of his Iron Man suit. The two women beside him followed suit, one of which had her hand tightly laced through Bucky’s. Steve had initially been against Bucky joining them on this mission. The risk of HYDRA getting their hands on him again was Steve’s worst nightmare. He couldn’t lose his best friend again. Nothing on God’s green earth was worth going through that all a second time. Bucky wouldn’t hear it, though.

“ _Y’ain’t keepin’ me outta this one, Stevie. This is our chance to wipe HYDRA out completely, an’ we need the numbers_ ,” he’d said. “ _’sides, I got a score or two t’ settle with those bastards_.”

Thor tucked the Mjölnir’s handle into the vacant slot on his belt and nodded to the other woman, the one with the red hair. Her hand reached for the doorknob, and from the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bucky exchange a quick kiss with his best girl.

“We’re gonna get ‘em, babydoll. They ain’t gonna hurt anybody else,” he muttered as he drew back. She nodded and stole another quick kiss before punching her service code into the keypad beside the door.

“Jack and Gabe are ready inside. Is everyone square with the plan?” Again, everyone nodded. Bailey cracked the door open, and all Steve could think was that he hoped to high heavens that this wasn’t a setup.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this has taken to long, guys! I have next to no time to write lately, since I'm working 60+ hour a week, not to mention all seven days a week. : /  
> This one will be wrapping up here very shortly, and I'm hoping to get another chapter up this weekend.  
> I know this chapter was supposed to be gruesome, but I decided to put all of that in a separate chapter for those who want a summary instead, that way they're not missing anything.

Just like you knew it would, all hell broke loose the second you entered the building. Security and agents were swarming like flies to a day-old carcass. Stark’s repulsors took down no less than eight opponents in one fell swoop, clearing a path for the rest of you. He continued at the head of the group, cutting down anyone who stepped in his way. Those attacking from the rear were cleared out by Bailey and Thor until the lot of you encountered the dormitory area. The hallway forked in two directions. Steve aimed two fingers down the corridor to the left, directing Tony and Thor to secure it. Then his hand waved across his body to the one on the right, telling Bailey that she’d be with him. With a look of nothing short of relief, he extended that same hand to you.

“Thank you,” he sighed before pausing for a moment. “You know this place better than any of us, so take Bucky and find Rumlow. If we can stop this at the source, then we can end HYDRA once and for all.”

You nodded, taking James’ hand in yours. Just as the two of you were about to head off, a hand on your shoulder stopped you. You glanced over your shoulder, following the fingers up an arm. An arm that, ironically, belonged to none other than Tony Stark.

“Just because you’re helping us doesn’t mean that all is forgiven.” Steve shot him a harsh glare. “That being said, if this isn’t a set-up, if we all get out alive, I’ll apologize in full.” You cocked an eyebrow, ready to retort, but James squeezed your hand hard enough to tell you to keep quiet. After mulling it over briefly, you settled on a few less sarcastic words.

“ _When_ we all get out alive, I’ll do my best to make amends.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you saw the corners of his mouth quirk slightly. But any evidence of such disappeared as quickly as it had come. Stark lowered his face shield again and looked to Thor.

“You ready, big guy?” Thor chuckled.

“Always, Man of Iron. Let us end this now.” The two of them departed down their designated hallway, making casual conversation about where to eat after this whole ordeal is over with. Steve just rolled his eyes and leaned towards Bailey, muttering about how Tony will always do his best to try everyone’s patience and that she ought to expect it in the future.

James tugged at your arm, waiting until you looked at him to gesture down the corridor to the right. You saw what he was looking at: an opening door. More agents piled into the hall, stacking up to look more like human bowling pins than a threat. They’d all been trained to stagger their stances in order to make it more difficult to all be brought down by the enemy.

You reached out and tapped Steve’s arm, pointing forward. He just chuckled and whipped his shield forward, taking out most of the lot like an _actual_ game of bowling. The two that remained standing were tucked to the outermost edges, like a 7-10 split. One of the most difficult spares to make, but Steve remained undeterred. His shield returned to his hands, and he glanced over to Bailey, who was cracking her knuckles. You knew exactly what she was thinking. Without letting go of James’ hand, you drew a small caliber pistol from its holster at your hip. It took you less than a full second to take aim at the closest light over the agent’s heads. Bailey’s ability was useless without a point of ignition, so you knew that you couldn’t miss your shot. Realistically, though, you couldn’t miss such an easy shot if you tried.

Effortlessly, you squeezed the trigger, successfully shattering the bulb. Glass fell from the support wires after the bullet nicked the tungsten filament. The separation ignited the inert gases filling the bulb and sparks rained down, just as you’d hoped. Bailey’s once-blue eyes raged a brighter red than her hair. They narrowed ever-so-slightly, and the sparks redirected before they had time to fizzle out. Each of the remaining men were fully in flames before you had a chance to even blink.

Steve and James exchanged an incredulous look as you returned your pistol to its home and Bailey’s eyes shifted back to that stunning blue.

As much as you hated to admit it, you somewhat relished in the screaming. It was practically music to your ears to hear them finally getting what they deserved. Your whole life, you were brought up believing that you were fighting the good fight, staying on the straight and narrow, and doing the right thing. But you were wrong. How many people had been killed by your own two hands? How many died because of you? How many could you have stopped? Had you gone to Steve sooner, Bristol and Nico might still be alive. Heidi might still be with her brother. None of the Avengers would’ve had to die, and you wouldn’t have to carry nearly the amount of guilt now mounting in your stomach. It never really hit you until now that you’d been directly liable for destroying so many lives, including your own. Whether you assumed full responsibility for that or cast the blame on those around you, the fact still remained that _you_ were a fucking monster.

“C’mon, doll. We gotta go,” James muttered, pressing his lips to your temple softly. You merely nodded and allowed him to guide you into the hallway, slipping between the two agents who were nothing more than crumpled heaps of charred flesh and bone.

Just through the doorway, the two of you were met with complete and utter silence. Within the quiet, it’d be easy to hear even the slightest of noises. The smallest source of disruption would lead into heavy fire, considering both James and yourself were strapped to the nines in weaponry: firearms, knives, your batons…

A hushed creak came from the other end of the newfound hallway. You glanced back as soon as you felt James’ hand leave yours, but he was nowhere to be seen. Somehow he’d slipped off into the shadows, assuming that if an agent saw him, they’d take aim at you. You, however, could pretend to still be batting for HYDRA, and they’d be none the wiser. Unfortunately, the person you saw rounding the corner wasn’t someone you’d wanted to see just yet.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Fuck.

Brock stared for a second, then ran at you, eyes brimming with concern. It was a look you’d never seen on him before, and frankly, it scared you a bit. His arms flew wide as he got closer, and he tucked them around you like a cage, pulling you into his chest.

“What the fuck is goin’ on out there?” he asked quietly. “Been worried fuckin’ sick about you, babe. Where were you?” You tried to pull away, pressing your palms to his pecs. Brock wouldn’t budge, though. He refused to let up even in the slightest. With more force, you pushed back until he loosened his grip. He looked truly offended that you’d make any attempts at rebuffing him.

“What’s gotten into you?” You looked down, feeling the most insignificant bit of shame. The pattern of the tile on the floor had never seemed so interesting, apparently, because you seemed to just stare at it for an exhausting amount of time.

Brock drew back his arm, cracking the back of his hand across your face.

“ _Answer_ me!” Your head snapped forward from its sideways lull. Everything went red. Absolutely everything. Brock actually looked somewhat fearful for a moment, but then broke into a lazy grin. “You get real fuckin’ pretty when you’re mad, y’know that?”

“Brock,” you warned, advancing forward a step. He cocked a challenging eyebrow.

“C’mon, princess. Let’s get outta here.” The click of a hammer being pulled back wiped that smug look right off Rumlow’s face as James lowered his pistol against Brock’s temple.

“Don’t you worry no more, babydoll. I’m gonna make this right,” James muttered. “This piece’a shit ain’t ever gonna hurt you again.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update! 
> 
> Feedback appreciated  
> <3

Brock let out a hushed groan, letting his head lull to the side. It ached. It throbbed. He felt like someone or some _thing_ tried to bash his fucking head in. With a pained grunt, he lifted his head again and opened his eyes. Things were fuzzy at first, but slowly, everything came into focus. A single light bulb swayed a few feet in front of him, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

“What the fuck…” he muttered, trying to lift an arm to rub at his eyes. But his hand wouldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. Still, he tried again and again before noticing the clank of metal on metal. “Fucking cuffs? What the fuck?”

A snicker from the darkest corner of the room caught his attention.

“Who the fuck are you? The fuck you want?” There was a snort of laughter before a figure began to emerge from the shadows. The light reflected off another metallic surface, shooting Brock’s heart into his throat. There was no doubt in his mind just who this man was, nor the reason this man was here. “No… No. You’re dead. You’re fucking dead. This is impossible.”

The Asset shook his head, letting out a manic chuckle.

“You tried so hard, didn’t you, Rumlow?” he quipped. “But puttin’ a bullet in me ain’t gonna stop me. You’ve hurt some people that I care about, Brock. And if that wasn’t enough, you just had to put your dirty, disgusting fucking paws on my best girl. Big mistake, buddy. You dug your own grave on that one…” The Asset leaned over the chair, face hovering inches from Brock’s. Brock tried to lean away, but the high back of the chair stopped his head from moving further back. The only thing he could think to do is hock back enough saliva to spit it in the man’s face.

He started laughing. Fucking _laughing_. The back of his hand dragged beneath his eye, wiping the glob of saliva and mucus away. He glanced at the back of his glove, still rumbling with chuckles. With a slight shake of his head, he fell absolutely silent. Rumlow had never seen The Asset act in such a manner. Frankly, it unnerved him a little.

The hand covered in spit reeled back and launched forward, crashing with Brock’s face. It hit with a wet smack, forcing his head to the side. The impact made Brock bite down on the inside of his cheek. A bitter coppery taste filled his mouth. He spit the blood on the floor and looked back up.

“That the best you got?” he cackled. “You hit like a bitch.”

“Funny comin’ from you, pal. Ain’t you the one who taught me?” The Asset shook his head a little, grabbing Rumlow’s lower jaw in his prosthetic hand. His grip tightened until Brock could feel his jaw bone starting to crack and crumble. It took all his strength not to start screaming, but the increasing pressure forced it out of him anyways. The Asset gave a sharp twist of his wrist, dislocating Brock’s already aching jaw, which just made him scream louder.

“Promised that stunnin’ woman out there that I wouldn’t make you suffer _too_ much, though you fuckin’ deserve it, you piece’a shit.” The man shook his head a little, delivering a solid punch to Brock’s nose. Blood began to spill out immediately, mixing with the mouthful he already had. “Dunno why you didn’t take better care of her, man. Dames like that don’t come along every day, y’know?”

Brock snorted.

“That little bitch deserved everything she got n’then some,” he quipped back. “Listen, since you’re gonna kill me and all, you mind makin’ it quick? Got things to do.”

A mess of dark hair fell around The Asset’s face as he leaned forward, producing a small hand gun from his thigh holster. The look on his face was beyond giddy. He was enjoying this, much to Rumlow’s dismay. Slowly, the barrel was placed against Brock’s forehead, and the other man simply laughed as he pulled the trigger.

 

*

 

Bucky wiped the back-spatter from his face. It was sickening, disgusting, but he kind of enjoyed the feeling of Rumlow’s warm blood on his skin. It was over.

It was a sign of the end. The end of HYDRA, the end of everything he’d ever feared, but most importantly, it meant that the woman he loved could sleep safely at night. Not just because she was by his side again, but also because Brock Rumlow was dead. Finally, he was gone. He would never lay another finger on her, and Bucky couldn’t be happier.

He slipped out of the former interrogation room, leaving Brock’s lifeless corpse to hopefully rot. She was waiting for him, chewing anxiously at her fingernails. Steve had an arm slung around her. He was doing his best to reassure her that no harm would come to Bucky. Buck knew that’d never stop her from worrying about him, but there was nothing left for her to worry about for the moment.

The moment she spotted Bucky emerging from the doorway, she stopped breathing. Her entire body froze. She didn’t even need to say anything for Steve to understand, and he simply stepped aside. When she finally regained her composure, she broke into a full sprint. Bucky knew exactly where this was going. He just held his arms out patiently.

She crashed into him, throwing her arms haphazardly around his neck. His automatic response was just to pull her as close as humanly possible and keep her there. Her face tucked into the crook of his neck, and he felt something warm and wet dripping on his skin. _She’s crying…_

“Ssshhhh…” he whispered, doing his best to soothe her. “It’s okay. Everythin’s okay. ‘s all over now, sugar. We’re fine. We’re okay.”

She didn’t say anything, but sniffled and nodded. Bucky ran his fingers through her tangled hair. He felt her body relax into his a bit more.

“Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again. Not as long as I’m still breathin’, baby. You’re safe.” A hushed sob wracked her body, and she nuzzled into his neck a bit further. Bucky had never seen her show this much emotion, but it wasn’t hard to tell that she was overwhelmed. Then it registered in his mind: _he_ was her weakness. Despite the years of training, being taught to be cold, calculating, manipulative, cunning… She had a vulnerability, and it was Bucky. It was always him.

“James, I love you,” she whispered against his skin. He kissed the top of her head, nodding.

“I know…” He sighed, looking up at Steve. “I love you, too.”

Steve lifted his eyes from the floor for the first time since Bucky had come back out. When their eyes locked, Bucky immediately knew something was wrong. There was no color in Steve’s face, no emotion. He was pale, sickly. Bucky watched his best friend’s jaw clench and release again.

Two words were mouthed to Bucky. Two words that made his blood run cold.

 _Tony’s down_.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for this taking so long. It's definitely taken a back seat to my other current projects.

“ _If we all get out alive, I’ll apologize in full_.” Stark’s words felt like a jab in the chest. They kept echoing in your mind on an endless loop, and it was driving you crazy. Guilt was an overwhelming emotion. It seemed to be the only thing you could really feel at the moment. How could this have happened? How could you have _let_ this happen? As much as you disliked the man, he didn’t deserve this.

Extra staff had been called in from a nearby hospital to tend to injuries and more importantly, to Stark. The medical wing of the Avengers Tower was buzzing with blue scrubs and latex gloves. A few of you needed minor medical attention, mostly in the form of stitches, bandages, and in Jack’s case, a reset nose. With none of you needing a more thorough examination, all that was left to do was wait.

The entire group, Avengers and now ex-HYDRA operatives alike, sat in the hallway, not-so-patiently awaiting an update as to Stark’s condition. He’d been patched up and stabilized for now, but as you all knew, until he was awake and ambulatory, nothing was certain. Regardless of your history, you were concerned. If Stark didn’t make it, it was on you. His blood would be on your hands, and Steve would never forgive you. If Steve hated you, it may cause a rift between him and James. Any animosity between James and Steve would force an ultimatum: you or Rogers. James would have to pick one, and you knew he would always choose Steve.

_No. No. I’m just over-thinking. Everything will be fine. Stark will be okay, and everything will be fine._

You were seated between James and Gabriel on the floor. James’ metal hand was wrapped around your considerably smaller one, giving it uneven squeezes every time he sensed a new surge of anxiety. Frankly, you hated this. You hated feeling so vulnerable, so open. This is not what you had been trained for. This was not who you were supposed to be. You were brought up to be a heartless monster – a killing machine – and yet there you were, awaiting an update on Tony Stark’s condition with bated breath.

“You alright, babydoll?” James asked softly, placing his flesh and blood hand against the back of yours, sandwiching it between his palms. Mutely, you nodded and forced yourself to crack a tiny smile. He gave you a slight look of disapproval, but didn’t press you. Instead, he opted to trade his expression for a tight, thin smile and a kiss on your temple.

“Would you like some coffee?” Gabriel asked from your other side, placed a gloved hand on your shoulder.

“Yes, please. If you wouldn’t mind,” you responded, laying your head on James’ shoulder. Gabe then looked at James, asking if he wanted anything while Gabe was up. James shook his head, only muttering ‘no, thanks’ when you nudged him with your elbow. You’d never met her, but you imagined his mother would’ve had a fit over her son forgetting to use his manners.

Once Gabriel was out of sight, James sighed loudly.

“You got some seriously sharp elbows, sweetheart. Keep them things to yourself.” You huffed out a breath and gave him a truly pathetic pout.

“Jerk,” you muttered. Leaning in, he removed his hand from the back of where his bionic hand laid entangled with yours in favor of grabbing you chin and making you look at him.

“Wanna run that by me again, sugar?” His tone was firm, but still playful as was the look in his eyes.

“You’re a jerk.” The response was plain and simple, bringing a grin to his face.

“And for some ungodly reason, you still love me, don’tcha?” James planted a sweet kiss on your lips when you nodded. Neither of you had expected such an endearing moment to be cut so short, but a loud clattering sound and the spray of liquid on the walls caught your attention. _Damn my sharp hearing…_

Quickly, you drew yourself from James, panning around to see Gabriel. His face was drained of all color, void of all emotion. Coffee blanketed a patch of tiles, leaving matching splatters on his shoes. His entire body was frozen up, aside from the tremble in his hands, which were still curved into a holding position. After a beat, his head whipped around, and he stared straight at the door keeping Stark hidden from view. His vacant expression contorted into a pained grimace. That was a look you knew all too well, and you knew exactly what was about to happen.

Almost on cue, a long, shrill beep came from inside Stark’s room. By the time you got to your feet, Gabriel was nowhere in sight, his gloves were lying on the floor, and the door was closing.

It was a rarity. Not often did the opportunity arise that Gabriel could save a life rather than take one. You’d only seen it once before, just after Brock’s accident in the Triskelion. He wasn’t breathing, had no pulse. But you watched Gabriel place a hand on Brock’s chest and squeeze his eyes shut. Something white, like wispy tendrils, flowed from his fingertips and into Rumlow’s body. You tried to speak, but were shushed harshly. Seconds later, Brock bolted upright, gasping and wheezing for air. Gabriel explained that he had exactly 29 seconds after the heart stopped to bring someone back, and unfortunately, it didn’t always work.

You could hear the medical personnel frantically calling to each other: “We need a crash cart, stat! Stark’s coding.”

All the commotion must’ve alerted Steve. He came around the corner in a dead sprint, which drew James to his feet. You stood beside him, watching Steve look around frantically for an answer before his eyes locked on Gabriel’s gloves. His eyes narrowed, his fists clenched, and he looked towards the door. You knew that look as well.

Before you knew it, you had dodged James’ protective arm, knocked Steve’s feet out from beneath him, and centered yourself between Steve and the door. Your .45 caliber pistol was drawn from its holster at your thigh, and the crosshairs were trained on Steve as he staggered back to his feet. You wouldn’t bring Steve any harm if it could be avoided, but you’d also already lost too much. There’s no way in hell you’d lose Gabriel too. Not if you could stop it.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Steve,” you said softly, doing your best to mollify the situation. “But I will if I have to. You go in there now, and Stark dies.”

“Is that a threat?” he growled, narrowing his eyes. James placed a gently hand on Steve’s shoulder, but Steve shrugged it off and took another step towards you. It was deliberate, calculated, like he was silently daring you to make a move.

“It’s not a threat. This is a delicate process, and any interruption will kill them both. If you want Tony to survive, you need to let Gabriel do this.” Another side step by Steve forced your hand. He needed to know that you were serious. So, with the side of your finger, you switched off the safety, and your thumb cocked back the hammer.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for the wait. I've been working on a new songfic series as of lately, as well as having four other active WIPs. I pinky promise that the final chapter won't take me nearly as long to post!

Steve was not about to back down. This wasn’t the first time someone had waved a loaded gun around in front of him, and he wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. Someone’s life was on the line. Not just anyone, but a teammate. A friend. And Steve would be damned if he let Tony down.

From the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bucky moving. _Don’t get in the way, Buck. I don’t wanna see you get hurt._ He was cautious in his step, taking care not to alarm Steve, but Steve was already quite well aware. Bucky had his hands up offensively. He was signaling that he meant no harm; that he was unarmed and just wanted to talk. But with the gut-wrenching screams coming from Tony’s room, there was no time for talk. If Steve didn’t get in there now, he’d lose someone else he cared for. He’d already lost so much in his life: Peggy, Nat, Clint, Bruce, and who knew if Sam would ever recover… Hell, he’d lost Bucky more than once.

“Stand down, Sergeant,” Steve commanded coolly, shifting his shield off his back to protect himself. _Please, for the love of God, just listen for once…_

“No can do, Cap. We only got one shot at this, an’ I ain’t lettin’ your hot-headedness get in the way. Just listen. Hear her out, a’right?” Swallowing hard, Steve’s hand flexed at his belt. He was only armed with a small caliber pistol, and she’d put a bullet between his eyes before he could even draw. The only way she’d miss is if he got his shield up fast enough, and even at that, it’d leave his lower half vulnerable. Raised by HYDRA, he knew she was already calculating that possibility and every other probable outcome. In any situation, the odds didn’t exactly favor Steve…

A blinding flash of white flooded the room. Steve couldn’t see a god damn thing for the first few seconds after it faded. He could still hear, though. It was silent, aside from the shuffling of feet. No more screaming, no more threats, nothing that encouraged him to take immediate action. But it didn’t exactly put him at ease. If anything, he was much more alert and on edge now.

When his vision finally settled, Steve could see into Tony’s room. The door was wide open, and Petran was standing just outside, pulling his gloves back on while peering in. Jaw clenched as tightly as his fists, Steve stowed his shield and took a cautionary step forward. He heard the faint click of the girl switching the safety on her weapon back into position. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky wrap a protective arm around her and pull her back a step, then he gestured Steve into the room.

“Go on, then, you stubborn lil’ punk. See for yourself.”

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat at the sight of Tony. His eyes were wide, skin pale, jaw wide open. That honestly was so far from what the good Captain expected. Tony looked absolutely horrified, but _Jesus H. Christ_ , he was _alive_!

Shame hit Steve’s gut like a sack of bricks. How could he have been so mistrusting? Hadn’t they already proven to him that they were on his side? And somehow, when it came down to a moment where he _should’ve_ trusted them, he didn’t. He’d even disregarded Bucky, ignoring his best friend’s pleas to see reason. Steve just saw red when the life of his teammate was in danger (though, obviously, that wasn’t the case this time), and now, he was questioning whether or not _he_ could even be trusted anymore.

 _“A good soldier doesn’t base his decisions on his emotions, Steve. He’s governed by morality and doing what he knows is right, no matter what he personally believes.”_ Wise words from Colonel Chester Phillips back in the ‘40s. A true soldier through and through if Steve’d ever met one, and he definitely knew what heroes were made of. _Probably rolling over in his grave right now_ , Steve thought humorlessly. He imagined the earful he’d be getting if he were still in the Army, and it was almost enough to make him laugh.

“What in the actual fuck,” Tony muttered, staring straight ahead, unblinking. “What just happened?”

“Well, you died,” Bucky deadpanned. The girl scoffed and smacked his chest with the back of her hand.

“James!” she hissed. “I swear, you’re tactless.” Bucky rubbed at the spot on his chest, grimacing a little behind his grin. He raised his free hand and shrugged.

“Aww, man…” Tony whined. “Not again. This is like, the third time?” Steve heard a quiet snicker beside him. He glanced over to Bucky and the girl, watching her tuck her forehead into the crook of Buck’s neck. She mumbled something to Bucky about Tony’s morphine drip and how it hadn’t been shut off, and Steve had to bite down on the inside of his lip to keep from laughing once again. The chuckle he was hiding found its voice with Bucky just as Tony groaned again. He went off on a long-winded, slurred rant about wanting to “talk to whoever is in charge of this bullshit”, and requesting that someone “call Wade, he knows the lady”.

It felt like someone had taken Steve’s emotions and put them in a blender. They were all mixed up with no hope of being separated. On one hand, Steve was over the moon. He was so grateful that Gabriel had been able to save Tony. It was a type of joy that he’d only experienced two other times in his life, both of which being when he found Bucky alive whilst he was assumed dead. On the other hand, that guilt of assumption was still weighing down Steve’s chest, like his lungs were filled with concrete. The former enemy team had risked their lives to help what was left of the Avengers take down the remainder of HYDRA itself. They’d lost family and friends of their along the way, too. And yet, Steve still didn’t want to trust them. It’d be a lie if he said he didn’t understand it.

Truthfully, he _did_ understand. He knew exactly why he still had such a bad taste in his mouth when it came to them. It wasn’t so much _them_ as a whole as it was _her_. Ever since Bucky remembered her, it was like he’d become someone else. He’d become that man again, the one who would stop at nothing to protect the ones he loves. That’s who Bucky was back in the ‘40s, especially with Steve being a sickly little twig of a man. Bucky was constantly pulling Steve out of fights, patching up his wounds, tending to him when he fell ill… And that’s when it hit him.

James Barnes wasn’t his Bucky anymore. He was hers.


	30. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done. Thank you to everyone that's stuck around through this whole thing.  
> I'm not exactly happy with the story as a whole, so I may end up going back and rewriting it later, but for the time being, here's the epilogue.

_Three Years Later…_

 

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” James grumbled, tossing aside a piece of polished pine. “I can field strip, lube, _and_ clean an AR-15 in less than ten minutes. I can take out an enemy from a hundred yards away easily. But I can’t put this god damn thing together…”

“Told you not to let her go in there, Buck,” Steve chuckled back, poking his best friend in the leg with another cherry-finished piece. “Told you not to toss the directions either, but your skull is too damn thick.”

“Can it, Rogers, or I’m gonna shove that damn side rail up your ass.” You couldn’t help but snicker at that from your place in the doorway. At the sound, James looked over his shoulder. As soon as he spotted you, he leapt to his feet, spinning on his heel. He made quick work of closing the gap between you, taking you in his arms and planting a sweet, loving kiss on your lips.

“Mornin’, Mrs. Barnes.”

Everything had changed. Following the collapse of HYDRA, the end of it all, everything was different. Tony Stark made a full recovery, still full of the sass and snark he’d become known for. He’d begun to spend less time in his lab and more time focusing on his relationship with Pepper. From what she had told you, the two were talking about starting a family.

Sam Wilson came out of his coma after four months. He was more or less forced to retire as an Avenger after it was revealed that his spinal damage had caused paralysis from the waist down, but Sam kept his chin up. Working diligently with Tony, the two managed to create what you could only describe as a second chance. A pair of leg braces linked to his cerebellum (running on impulses fired by his neurons to give him full control) allowed Sam to not only walk again, but revoke his retiree status. He was a full-fledged Avenger once again, and his perseverance was nothing short of admirable.

Bailey had been escorted back to Jötunheim under Thor’s protection, where the two of them worked ceaselessly to find what remained of her family. Neither had returned as of yet, but you had faith that they someday would.

Jack and Gabriel (with psychiatric help from Sam, support from Steve, and funds from Tony) had opened a new sort of VA. Those with abilities who sought out help could come to them for treatment, safety, a home, a family. Gabe once told you that he and Jack agreed it was the least they could do after all the harm they’d caused. Initially, the public had been wary, but the sincerity and diplomacy of all involved finally outweighed the doubts, and the trust poured in.

The hardest adjustment by far was saved for Steve Rogers. He remained the level head of the Avengers, lending a helping hand at any opportunity he could and training new recruits. But with everything that had happened, all he’d lost, all he’d gained, it didn’t come without a price. For a good six months or so, he practically lived in the facility run by Gabe and Jack. The weight of his conscience had begun break him down, and getting help became his only option. Trials and tribulations, time and time again, he overcame, and when he was finally cleared to return to the compound, he was finally Steve Rogers again, the Steve that James remembered.

Speaking of James, everything had changed for him as well. After everything that the two of you had been through, the war had been won. All the things that had kept you apart were gone, and nothing else was holding you back. It took a while, but James finally plucked up the courage – thanks, in large part, to Steve’s incessant nagging – to ask you to marry him. With no hesitation, no second thoughts, you answered ‘yes’ straight away. Three months later, though rushed and a bit hectic, the two of you tied the knot and never looked back.

“Morning, Mr. Barnes.” You grinned, stealing another peck. “How’s it going in here?”

“Fuckin’ awful,” Steve muttered from his place on the floor, earning a sharp glare from James. You raised an eyebrow, stifling an amused laugh. “This jackwagon tossed the directions, an’ we can’t seem to get this damn thing put together without ‘em.”

“You’re not allowed in IKEA anymore,” James deadpanned, pointing a finger at you.

“Sorry, we thought you two could handle it,” you sighed with a playful grin, rubbing both hands across your swollen eight-month belly. “You’re experts in the field, deconstructing bombs and high-powered machinery, but I should’ve known a crib would be too much.”

James gave you a lopsided grin before cradling your stomach in his hands, metal and flesh alike. He’d been so afraid at first. For the first five months or so, he was terrified to touch you. Not because he was afraid of harming you or your child, but because he didn’t want those blood stained hands to ever come close to tainting something so precious. But once the baby began to kick, you wouldn’t allow him _not_ to touch you. And after he felt that first movement, he refused to miss anything else.

“Momma’s bein’ a smartass today, lil’ one,” he jested, leaning down to kiss your bump. You rolled your eyes dramatically, pushing his shoulder.

“Ignore him, kid. Your daddy’s a jerk. Better not turn out like him, huh?” Steve quipped on your behalf, stepping up behind James. Clapping a hand down on his shoulder, Steve gave James a smile wider than the Grand Canyon. “Now, let’s get this shit finished before she pops. I ain’t givin’ up my room because you’re too dumb to put a crib together.”

Watching the boys settled back on the floor with their pile of wood and screws and bolts, you felt your heart swell. For something that had so long been broken, you’d all fixed it together. As impossible as it’d felt, as splintered as you all were, everything managed to come back together the way it needed to.

You’re not a princess in a Disney movie. You’re not the lead in a John Hughes film. You’re not supposed to have the cliché happy ending, you’re not supposed to get the guy, you’re not supposed to feel joy or happiness. Monsters don’t deserve that.

But you’re not exactly a monster anymore, are you?

**Author's Note:**

> Harass me on tumblr: @sebeefstianstan


End file.
